Come On, Be Realistic
by AliceUnderSkies13
Summary: There's nothing wrong with wanting to be perfect... IAxLen/Yuuma/Piko, Lenx?, and a bit of RinxGumiya.
1. Penthouse Attraction

From the high-speed elevator, everything was visible. Going higher and higher, feeling higher than the sun. The hot glass seared IA's skin as the elevator climbed the steps of the atmosphere, its frame shaking in the nonexistent wind.

_What does is feel like, to ascend the ladder of the sky? _her mind asked her. She closed her round, blue eyes. _It, it feels wonderful. _

IA smiled when she thought this, and pressed her face into the glass. What a marvelous feeling, to scale the edge of a towering building and stare over into the brink of darkness, broken up by a million blinking lights. It was a diorama of blackness and shadows that reached long and high, swallowing the freezing white of daylight in a flood of ethereal darkness. IA looked out from the glass elevator and saw a city far below her, its lights gleaming in the moonlight. Her blue eyes widened in their sockets; she was in awe.

Yes, she was in awe, but she could never say that to anyone. After all, a celebrity was not supposed to be awed by anything, nothing should ever surprise them. And that's what she was, a celebrity, a successful person in a surprisingly success-less world. It wasn't for the money or the fame, just the success.

_And that's what I am,_ she thought, _successful._

IA felt a shudder of conceit go up her spine. Her eyes closed, her hands curling into fists against the glass. The signature black half-shirt slid down her shoulders, revealing her flawless skin, her thin form, the black tattoo drawn in a curvy way, a shattered diamond with the lines, 'Gonna live, gonna fly. Gonna fail, gonna die' written across it. On the back of her neck was another tattoo, a simple number, the number three.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice said quietly.

IA started and turned around. Behind her was one of her backup dancers, leaning against the glass. He looked up at her through his blonde hair, a small smile on his pale face.

"What?" IA spat.

"The city," he explained. "It's very beautiful tonight."

"I guess." Her voice was softer than usual, lacking its typical mechanized tone.

That's how they described her on the television and radio. "A talented singer, but she's so stiff!"—"Exactly, she walks and talks like she's a machine or something. No personality, completely un-relatable."—"And everyone knows who she's compared to! Luka Megu—"

"Shut up," IA growled, slamming her fists into the glass.

"Uh, Miss IA?" The backup dancer was standing up, hands behind his back, his bright blue eyes filled with concern. "Are you ok?"

The fists became limp hands that fell loosely to her side. She took a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

_But you don't sound fine, pull yourself together! Who cares about that stupid, pink haired, overrated—_

"Thirty-first floor."

IA's train of thought was fractured by the unfeeling elevator voice. She took another deep breath and patted down her hair, trying to subdue that annoying flyaway that never seemed to lie flat. Being who she was, she needed to look calm and properly put together, like a jigsaw puzzle assembled by a perfectionist.

"Thanks for the escort," she said casually to the backup dancer. "See you at tomorrow's show."

"Have a good night, Miss IA," he replied, bowing slowly. He smiled, then pressed the button for the first floor and watched the doors close.

Well, almost close. At the last possible second, IA jammed her arm between the silver doors. They immediately slid back, disappearing like shadows, and she was left standing there, breathing heavily, glaring at her backup dancer.

The reality of breathing no longer existed as she stared down at him. He was so pretty; he stole her breath away every time those blonde locks fell in front of his sky blue eyes. A strong wind was blowing outside, shaking the glass elevator. IA blinked, and her fake self, that mask she wore in front of the real world, vanished just like the wind. The world's presence was no longer relevant, so she turned her attention to the backup dancer that stood expressionless against the glass.

She beckoned with her index finger. "Come here, Len."

He sighed. "Again? Miss IA, I should really be getting back to my room." He shuffled his feet awkwardly, staring at the transparent floor. "I promised my sister I would call her tonight, we haven't talked in forever."

"Please?" IA whispered. Her eyes were wide and glistening, her hair strung across her face, she looked like a child.

"Miss IA…" Len started, "this isn't real. We aren't really together." His voice was quiet, almost inaudible.

"But we are Len, in here." She pointed to her head. "Isn't it fine if it's just in my dreams?"

Len sighed again, and walked towards his singer, his leader, his mistress of music. Inside his mind he could just picture his sister, Rin, sitting by the phone in her apartment, waiting all night for a call that would never come. "As you wish, Miss IA."

IA took his hand, wrapping her fingers around his. She brought his limp body towards her, like he was just some lifeless puppet on invisible strings. Brushing back the golden bangs, staring into the deep blue eyes that did not stare back, she bent over and pressed her lips against his neck.

"_What has been repeating is not our dream_," she sang under her breath, _"but the unmistakably realistic 'we'."_

_There will never be a 'we,'_ Len thought. But he didn't say anything; he just stood there as IA kissed his neck, pulled at his hair, wrapped her arms around his body and held him tight.

But when her soft, candied lips met his, he couldn't help but kiss back. Her long blonde hair tinged with pink beneath the penthouse lights, she was as beautiful as ever. It wasn't right, she was just using him, he knew that. Still, he couldn't just leave her up here, all alone. The stress, the criticism and comparisons would drive her mad. No, she needed him, and that was enough to make Len stay.

* * *

**A/N: My dear reader, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Thanks for clicking on this story! If you feel compelled to do so, please leave a review :). **


	2. The Midnight Headlines

The elevator IA was in continued to rise. It aimed for the top, and kept climbing. Climbing and climbing, never stopping as the regrets piled up behind her eyelids. She screamed, "Why am I going up?" but the quiet blonde haired elevator boy reminded her that the elevator was just like her life. The enclosed space hinted at her dreams, her goals, her destiny, and it kept on climbing higher and higher. Resounding, resounding, even though she wanted it to stop, it wouldn't. Forever ascending towards the dead end, a million images passed before her very eyes. Suddenly, it screeched to a halt, the doors flying open.

IA jolted awake. Her chest heaved, the strap of her tank top falling off her shoulder. With frantic eyes she looked around, recognizing the room she was in. It was her room, not some elevator going eternally up.

_But going up is good,_ her mind told her. _You climb up, you gain success. Success equals good, good equals success. Success, success, success—_

"Stop it," she muttered, running her hands down her face. "I need to sleep." She looked at her alarm clock, the digital numbers spelling out four thirty-five. The news was probably on, and some over enthusiastic anchor wearing too much makeup was probably talking about her.

_I bet they even criticize me when I sleep, _IA thought sarcastically, _sneering in a patronizing way._

She laughed softly, absentmindedly playing with her hair. The blue eyes wandered around the penthouse apartment. Her bedroom wasn't very dark at that time of night, the city lights visible and sparkling through the floor length windows. The light was on in the bathroom, the lamp was on in the living room. A soft, pulsating glow radiated from every corner of the apartment. IA smiled, the lights made her feel safe. And they were so pretty too, mystical and unearthly.

"They make me awestruck," she whispered to the empty air around her. Nobody heard her confession, so she was secure.

She was silent for a while, twirling her soft hair between middle finger and thumb. The stillness, broken up by the occasional beeping of her alarm clock, was suffocating. Thoughts crept back into her mind. Criticisms and jeers, comparisons and the pressing reality of her next show. IA ran her fingers through her hair, scrunching the bed sheets with her toes.

The low, white bed, another piece of furniture in the ultramodern room, was a vessel floating amidst a sea of white tile. It carried two people, one awake and agitated, the other fast asleep. IA's eyes widened when she remembered who the other person was. Len was lying next to her, numb and shirtless. How could she have forgotten?

His pale back, shining in the darkness, rose with even breaths. His golden hair covered his eyes, and his right arm was draped over the side of the bed. He was dangerously close to falling off; as if his unconscious-self had done everything it could to get as far away from IA as possible.

IA placed a shaking hand on his shoulder blade. He twitched ever the slightest, but did not awaken. So she moved closer to him, placing her body right next to his. Her head on his neck, her fingers stroking his face, IA exhaled and closed her eyes.

_"As dawn breaks, I become uneasy, and end up crying in tears," _she sang softly._ "You whispered 'It's ok' to me, but were you also crying?"_

That was their song, written and crafted just for them. Even if it that stupid, pink-haired Luka had sang it first.

"Len," IA said, poking him in the side. "Len, wake up."

He groaned, muttering some string of unintelligible words. Groggily, his eyes opened, his thick eyelashes fluttering. There she was, leaning over him, her heart-shaped face like the sunlit moon. Strands of blonde hair fell around him, veil-like.

"What is it, Miss IA?" he asked, stifling a yawn.

"I just wanted to hear your pretty voice," IA replied, tracing his collarbone with her fingers. "Please, will you sing to me? I know you have a pretty singing voice, too."

_Nobody ever hears me sing, _Len thought, his attitude slightly vexed, _not even my music coaches._ _Only Rin has ever heard me sing,_ _since Mom and Dad aren't here anymore…_

"No, Miss IA, it's too early for singing," he said calmly. He laughed without emotion, trying to push her away.

"Come on, Len. Just one line, just one note," she persisted, kissing his cheek.

He grabbed her hand. "No."

IA stared, mouth ajar. Her wide eyes glistened with a few tears that vanished when she blinked.

"Fine. Just, just go back to your hotel room." Ripping her hand from his grasp, she got out of the bed and walked into the bathroom. But she didn't slam the door behind her; instead, she sat on the edge of the bathtub and cried.

Len could hear her through the door. He sat amidst the snow white sheets, hating himself.

_I should never hurt Miss IA,_ he said to himself, like a command. _But I can't keep doing this. It's not fair for her…or for me._

Heaving a sigh, he laid back against the pillow. He knew what he had to do, he couldn't leave. Miss IA had a performance tomorrow; she had to be at her very best.

In the partial darkness of the penthouse, Len waited for IA to return. An hour later, she finally did, her eyes red and swollen. When she lay down next to him, her blank eyes staring up at the ceiling, he did what he had to do. Huddling next to her, placing his arm around her, he sang something in her ear. It was so subtle, almost inaudible, and it ripped his soul apart to do so.

_"My butterfly flapped about aimlessly, leaving behind some powder on your hand…"_

Clear sunlight crept across the tile, illuminating a portion of IA's sleeping form. Half her body in the darkness, half in the clutches of daytime, she was like two different people. Her real self, and the unaffected mask she sometimes wore over it.

The alarm clock started beeping on the bedside table. Her eyes snapped open, squinting in the harsh daylight. Tousling her hair with one hand, she looked at the time. Seven thirty, the show would start in three hours. For half a second, she sat on the edge of the mattress, grasping the side with white-knuckled fingers. In a mere three hours she would be performing, in a mere three hours a million eyes would be staring at her, judging her. She had to be perfect this time. Not a single flaw, not a single blemish, just like an impeccable diamond. IA ran her fingers over the tattoo on her arm and shuddered.

Her pride was trying to get a hold of her, but it was barricaded by an unseen wall of memories. Memories from last night. Len's eyes boring into her own, his pale skin, his toned dancer's body, the way he had sang softly in her ear. IA closed her eyes, trying to remember the feeling of his lips against hers…

_Stop, _she said to herself. _You don't need love, you don't need friends. You're only after success._

A final nostalgic shiver made its way up her back, and then Len's face, body, and breath all vanished from her mind. What was left was a lonely emptiness, exactly what a celebrity should have inside their brain. She took a deep breath and stood up, heading for the shower.

The water could have been ice cold or scalding hot, IA wouldn't have noticed. Her thoughts were too preoccupied on the reality that was set before her. Fail or fly, live or die, she could do one or the other, but not both.

With a soft hand, slightly pink from the steaming droplets, she rubbed some of the condensation off the bathroom mirror. She glared at her reflection, at the dripping hair and glowing skin. "I know exactly what I want and who I want to be," she told her double. "I know exactly what I want and who I want to be." She said this again and again as she brushed her teeth and blow-dried her hair. It was part of her routine, an odd way of 'psyching-herself-up'.

Watery footprints followed her as she walked across the tile, wrapped in a towel. Len was already dressed. IA could see him, standing at the bar in the kitchen, eating a ripe banana.

"Good morning, Miss IA," he said loudly from across the room. "I made you breakfast." His blue eyes were averted, not wanting to encroach upon her privacy. He stared at the refrigerator, going over the dance moves in his head, trying hard to forget last night; that was his personal routine. Every time IA lured him into her hotel room with a quavering finger, every time he woke up to her emotionless glances and cold gestures, and every time he forgot to call Rin, his mind worked at maximum speed, attempting to block out the shameful memories. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. She never thought about his feelings, or lack thereof.

There were plenty of girls who fawned over the oh-so-attractive backup dancer named Len. He could have a girlfriend if it wasn't for IA.

Sighing, he tossed the banana peel into the disposal. _I can't get mad at Miss IA,_ he thought. _I just can't._

Still, he did allow himself to become irritated at times. A bachelor like him, fresh out of college and with a bright future in professional dancing ahead, shouldn't have to put up with this, not for a second.

He flicked the switch, listening to the sound of the metal blades shredding the banana peel.

IA suddenly walked into the kitchen, absentmindedly running her fingers through her long hair. She looked perfect, dressed in her customary outfit: black tank top and sleeves, black half-shirt, a single black stocking that went up her thigh, a pink pleated skirt, and a pair of white boots lined in a fiery magenta. Her choker was tied tight around her smooth neck. Two light blonde braids were pulled in front of her shoulders, swinging rhythmically every time walked.

"I look ok?" she asked quietly, subconsciously patting down her hair.

"Yes, Miss IA, you look great," Len replied with a halfhearted smile. He glanced down at his watch. "Uh, I have to go now. The dancers are meeting at eight forty-five for a practice run. So, I'll see you at the show then."

"All right. See you then," she said distractedly. She looked at the breakfast Len had prepared her, a generic bowl of oatmeal and a cup of tea. It was fine with her; she really didn't have any favorite foods.

Her blue eyes followed Len as he made his way to the elevator. The doors were almost closed when she said, "It's ok if you leave. Your existence is like air; even if you aren't here, it's the same."

The doors stayed open for a few agonizing seconds. Len was inside, breathing hard, his hand hesitating on the 'open' button. He let it go, not uttering another word, and let the doors slide shut.

IA left the penthouse an hour later, the cup of tea shaking in her hands. On the main floor of the hotel, in a side room, makeup artists and hair dressers fussed over her. Her eyeliner, her blush, the way her ankle-length hair swung when she took a step, everything had to be perfect.

Her agent, a tall woman with red lips and a brown bob, was pacing up and down the dressing room, talking to an invisible person through her headset.

_Well, she won't be my agent after today, _IA thought sadly. Meiko was settling into an early retirement, much too early, she was only thirty nine. But her wealth far exceeded her age, as did her selfish intentions, so she had decided to move away and leave her young pop idol drowning in a sea of media sharks. Oh, she would miss IA, but when she closed her eyes at night, her dreams were filled with green bills and sunny beaches.

"Don't worry, I've got you another agent already," she had told IA, waving her hand dismissively. "He's great, you'll love him."

_He could be anybody, _IA told herself. _He could be like those anchors on TV_. Her eyes grew wide and her stomach was suddenly filled with a dozen butterflies. _He could hate me._

"Miss IA, you all right?" asked the man who was finishing her hair.

She nodded, passing her left hand over her eyes. "Fine, just fine," she muttered. She took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm her pounding heart. The sickening clouds of hairspray and the mounting anxiety was enough to make her head swim.

A set of red, pointed fingernails suddenly grabbed her arm. "He's here!" Meiko exclaimed. "There he is, right at the door. Now I'll go give him the rundown on today and then I'm out of here, not that I'm happy to leave. You know that, darling, of course you do." She flashed a fake grin. "I'll be in the audience." She hurried to the door, running as fast as she could in her six inch heels.

IA looked up through her bangs at the man who would be her new agent. His back towards her, all she could see was a grey sweater, dress pants, the white collar of a button-up, and a slightly shaggy but well-kept mane of pink hair that brushed his shoulders.

He had beautiful hair, that was the first thing that came to IA's mind. Soft-looking and candy colored.

Meiko suddenly gestured behind him, her mouth curved into a wildly ingenuous smile. IA watched, her chin in her left hand, as the new agent slowly turned around.

She gasped. A kind face, a real smile, and a pair of hawk-like eyes, yellow and glowing just like two stars.

"Awestruck," IA whispered.


	3. The Perfect Performance

"IA?" the new agent asked. His voice was low and natural-sounding, much deeper than Len's. Looking down at IA, her legs scrunched up to her chest like a little kid, he smiled. Pieces of pink pastel hair fell in front of his eyes as he cocked his head to one side. Above, the air vent was blasting cold air throughout the dressing room; it ruffled his tie and rippled across his silky sweater.

"Yeah, that's me," IA replied, quickly trying to smooth down her hair.

"Miss IA, don't touch! You'll mess it up!" her hairdresser cried. More clouds of noxious hairspray filled the air. The new agent disappeared momentarily inside the fog, but his shining eyes pierced the haze like two headlights on a darkened street.

"S-sorry," IA choked, coughing. She tried to take a deep breath, but the air was too thick with hairspray and the pressure of perfection. Her ribs hurt from coughing, her head whirled, the butterflies inside her stomach multiplied and began fluttering furiously. "I swear I'm gonna be sick," she muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Suddenly, a gentle hand touched her shoulder. She looked through the gaps in her fingers and saw the new agent standing over her, his teeth gritted, a strange expression in his eyes. "Are you done here?" he asked the hairdresser. "Can't you see she's had enough?"

"Oh, I…uh, I'm sorry, I didn't notice," the hairdresser sputtered. "I was just so focused on—"

"Everything being perfect," the agent finished. "Yeah, I know. You need to give her space, that's all I'm saying. No need to apologize." He looked at IA. "Come on; let's get you out of here."

For half a second, she thought that he was going to pick her up and whisk her away, maybe to a train station, and then they would board a passenger car and watch as the city vanished behind them. But that was just some idealistic dream, it wasn't real. Instead, he brought her to the janitor's closet that was just outside the dressing room.

"A closet?" she asked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yes, really. Now get inside."

The door creaked when it closed, a single strip of light passing across her stunned face, and then IA found herself in total darkness. Immediately, the fear began to creep up her spine. She shivered, feeling for the wall behind her, biting her lip as a whimper developed on her tongue. She really hated the dark.

There was a faint popping noise, a light bulb hanging from the ceiling came to life, and her agent's face abruptly appeared in front of her. She jumped, stifling a scream with her left sleeve.

"Don't be scared," he told her, grasping both her shoulders. "I brought you in here for a reason."

"And what reason would that be?" she asked quietly, absentmindedly twirling one of her braids. She looked her new agent up and down. He was definitely attractive, cute but with an air of hotness about him. Tall, masculine yet somehow soft, he was unlike any man she had ever seen. But still, they had just met, she barely knew him. She took a few tentative steps back. Was this really going to happen inside a janitor's closet?

"The reason I brought you in here is to give you a pep talk, of course."

"Oh," IA said. "That's all."

"Yeah, so listen up." He gripped her shoulders even tighter, glaring into her eyes as if he were a trainer looking down at his boxing champion. "Artists who seek perfection in everything are those who cannot attain it in anything. A very famous writer said that once. And he's right, IA." His yellow eyes gleamed in the muted light. "As your new agent, I only want you to understand one thing about me, just one thing. I don't expect perfection, not from you, not from anyone. Now listen closely. Perfection is unattainable. I want you to repeat that."

"Perfection is—wait, what?"

_Are you an idiot? _she thought. _Even so, you could at least put understandable words side by side. _

Her agent laughed softly. "I know, you think I'm crazy. But just say it, ok?"

IA raised her eyebrows. _Probably just some new stress-releasing technique_, she thought. "Ok, sure. Perfection is un…" Her voice faltered. She swallowed hard, trying to swallow the words. "Perfection is…" Again, her words faded. Couldn't say it, she just couldn't bring herself to say it. It was a lie, after all, a blatant lie whispered by the candied lips of this naïve agent.

_Perfection is unattainable, what kind of abstract nonsense is this?_

She backed up, her hands clenching into fists.

"IA," her agent said gently. "Say it, once you do I promise you'll feel so much better. You're too hard on yourself. I barely know you and I can already see that." He reached out towards her. "IA."

The way he said her name made another shiver go up her spine. She gasped, backing up into the door. Taking a deep, shuddering breath she said, "Perfection is un…"

A scene suddenly flashed before her eyes. She was standing on the opposite side of a fence, staring at the schoolyard beyond, her fingers interlocking around the separate links. Her wide eyes were unmoving, their pupils focusing on the little girl in front of her. She was sitting a little ways off, her body obscured by the crisscrossing chains. The strands of black hair hung in her eyes, casting a dark shadow across her forehead; IA could not see her face. The little's girls lips curved into a slight smile as IA watched her, just sitting there in the fresh, green grass. A little girl of about ten, with papery white skin and tousled hair that curved against her neck. Her lithe little fingers moved quickly, her unseen eyes engrossed in what she was doing. Nothing could divert her attention, not the stark wind that ruffled her dark hair, or the pointed stalks of grass that prodded at the soles of her feet. The world was unknowable to her, everything flashing by like a moving picture show. Flowers blossomed from the earth beneath her feet, their petals unfurling like pieces of crumpled paper, their stems escaping from within the confines of their native prison. Clumps of grass, slick with dew, brushed against one another in the silent breeze while wordless clouds crept across the blue plane of the sky. Their shadows reached long, covering IA in a transparent film of black. "Sister!" the little girl called. "Are you here to pick me up? Look, I made you a paper bird!" She ran up to the fence and pushed the origami bird through the links.

"It's perfect," IA said, smiling. "And you know what Mom always says…"

Another scene emerged, a white room and a white bed, an IV and a pale, wrinkling hand. "Always strive for perfection, IA, it's the most important thing you'll ever obtain in this life. Perfection equal success."

IA blinked and found herself back in the janitor's closet. Her agent was standing in front of her, speaking softly, his eyes full of concern.

_He barely knows me!_ she thought. Whether she was angry by his actions or merely shocked she did not know. All she knew was that he kept repeating the same thing over and over again.

"IA, just say it. You'll feel better."

"Perfection is un—"

A white room and a white bed, an IV and a pale, wrinkling hand. Her sister's paper bird. "Oh, onii-chan, you like my bird?" _Yes, it's perfect._

"I can't say it!" IA shrieked. She sunk to the floor, trying to hold back the tears. But a few fell anyways, she was tired and anxious and her stomach hurt for no apparent reason. She placed her cheek against the cold metal door, closing her eyes and breathing hard.

Her agent was still standing, staring down at his new client who huddled on the floor. _Great, I've known her for fifteen minutes and I've already made her cry_, he thought. He kneeled down beside her and rubbed her back in slow, circular motions.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know my words would cause you so much pain." He straightened up, stretching out his hand towards her. "Are you feeling well enough to perform?"

"Yes," IA whispered. "I'm fine. Sorry, I don't know what came over me."

"Don't apologize, IA."

Another shiver, cued by the simple utterance of her name, made her back arch. His voice was so, so intoxicating.

"Wait," she said. "You never told me your name."

He laughed uncomfortably. "How unprofessional of me. Forgive me. My name is Yuuma."

"Yuuma," IA repeated, grabbing his hand and letting him pull her to her feet.

They were silent for a few moments, then Yuuma smiled and said, "Well you perform in about ten minutes. You better get out there."

"Do I look ok?" she asked, patting down her hair.

"You look amazing, just like a pop-star who's about to make millions of people happy."

She nodded brusquely. "Thanks. I'll see you after the show, then." Her voice was empty, full of lonely logic and vague memories. But Yuuma heard something, a sound buried way down deep, and he felt his lips curve into an honest smile.

Just as IA was opening the closet door, she turned and said, "Meiko chose well. You're…nice."

Before Yuuma could respond she left, leaving him alone in the partially lit janitor's closet.

Last minute check. Hair in place, outfit undamaged, powder on her face.

Powder, like that song… _My butterfly flapped about aimlessly, leaving behind some powder on your hand…_

IA shook her head. Now was not the time. Still, she wondered how she had almost forgotten about Len. He was somewhere back stage, dressed in his backup dancer costume, probably looking as pretty as ever. And Yuuma might still be in the closet, his handsome face illuminated by a single light bulb, or he could be in the audience waiting for her.

"Neither one of them matters," she said quietly to herself. "Focus."

"All right, Miss IA, you're on." A stage manager gestured to the steps that led up to the curtain.

IA walked towards the stage, her strides long and determined. With each step, she grew more and more nervous, and at the same time, confident. "I know exactly what I want and who I want to be," she muttered as she ascended the steps. One, two, three, four, and then there was the curtain, welcoming her like the black gate into some unknown land. She took a breath, heard the slight crackling in her ear as her headset was turned on, and then parted the curtains.

The minute hand stopped. It struck the six and then halted, as if it had crashed into a wall. IA looked up and stared at the empty clock face. The clock was silver, wide like the moon, and only had four numbers, twelve, three, six, and nine. It floated above the crowd that gathered before her. Hundreds of people, thousands of eyes, all staring straight at her. Inside their fickle minds, they were most likely judging her, but she couldn't think about that. No, she could only think about one thing, success.

Her ears were deaf to the thundering applause as she took the stage, her eyes blind to smiling faces and posters reading: We Love You IA! Her heartbeat was what she heard, the music notes, dancing black fireflies in the air, was what she saw. The dancers came into place around her, Len was the one at her feet, grabbing onto her thigh. That ever persistent shiver tried to roll, but IA stopped it. Len was just another faceless dancer when she was on stage, a nobody.

IA waited, then a computerized voice said, "Music," and the performance started. The guitars revved, the beat pounded in her ears. She raised her arm and sang, _"IA, IA, night of desire!"_

Everything was propelled forward, time blurring as visual and audio data raced into her brain. The clock behind the audience, anchors on a television show, unknown fans singing along, their voices echoing in her brain. Allegro, allegro. Faster and faster. The gears of a hyperactive mind weaving and meshing together, all of time ripping apart just as her hair was ripped from her head. IA's fingers brushed a dancer's face, her body performed the dance routine she had spent weeks perfecting. Imagining saying goodbye to this world and just falling head first into a universe of numb excitement. That's what performing was like for her, like being submerged in freezing water. Dazing, but still enthralling. Mind and body vanishing without anger or fear, just benign energy pulses through her veins.

_"Stronger and stronger. Getting hotter and hotter!"_

Energy, so much pure energy. Another faceless dancer lifted her up into the air.

_"Even if a thousand birds lose their wings, and the sky's hue fades to nothing. This is true desire! I spread my wings feverishly because I want to feel your all."_

Hands up, back down, spinning, arm motions, upstage, downstage, sweat trickling down her face.

_"With my boundless emotion let this arrow of love fly!"_

Four minutes and seventeen seconds seemed to last forever, but the song finally came to an end. The computer voice yelled "Come on!" More lines of vocal-less noise, then the voice whooped and everything faded out.

IA stood with one hand pointing towards the sky, heart racing. The backup dancers were all frozen in their final poses, but their chests stilled heaved and sweat dripped down their faces. If IA had looked to the right of her, she would have seen Len there, kneeling on the floor with his back bent in a graceful arch, his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat, but she kept her eyes on the clock. Cheers and roars of approval echoed across the room. IA never really heard the applause, everything seemed muted to her.

Somebody in the audience was raising a cellphone up, trying to film the entire performance. IA's unmoving eyes caught a glimpse of it, glinting in the midday light, and her blood went cold. For a split second, it had looked like a knife, a long, silver kitchen knife.

A distorted memory, no longer logical, emerged. _"Oh onii-chan, do you like my bird?" She went to take the origami bird, but her sister snatched it back. "Oh onii-chan," she said again, "do you like my knife?" _

And there it was, watching her and recording her like the cellphone, and there was the cellphone, silver and deadly like the knife. Not just a knife, the knife, the very same one.

A voice suddenly said, "There you have it, ladies and gentlemen, another amazing performance by IA! Thank you all for coming to this wonderful benefit concert!"

That was the cue. All of the backup dancers unfroze and stood next to her, grabbing each other's hands and bowing. Two unknown dancers grabbed her hands on either side, bringing her down in a quick bow. They bowed over and over again as the applause continued, but IA stood upright, staring at nothing and seeing that knife-like cellphone inside her mind. The performance had gone so well until that cellphone, then all of her confidence had melted away and been sucked up by the midday sun. It didn't matter if she had sounded great, or if her dance moves had been in synch, she didn't feel the way she wanted. Something, she must have done something wrong. The performance couldn't have been perfect, nothing was perfect.

She gasped, feeling the butterflies flap their wings even harder. What Yuuma had said, could it have been true?

She decided to try it. "Perfection is unattainable," she admitted to no one. The effect was instantaneous. Her mind reeled, invisible tears pricked at her eyelashes, and the butterflies became like wild animals, writhing inside her, climbing up her throat. The backup dancers were in a neat line, one by one exiting the stage. IA pushed past them, knocking a blonde haired boy over in the process. No one in the crowd noticed IA's hasty departure, only the blonde haired boy, only Len, noticed as she ran down the hall.

"Miss IA," he muttered.

"Careful, Len," one of his fellow dancers said, helping him up.

"Thanks." He brushed himself off and followed the others down the steps. As they headed into their dressing room, Len saw a man he had never seen before. A man with light pink hair and startling yellow eyes. He was standing by himself, scribbling something onto a notepad.

_That's weird, _Len thought. _Doesn't he have an Ipad or something?_

The man suddenly looked up, and their eyes met. He stared, unblinking at Len, a half-smile on his face. Len stared back, his eyes narrowing ever the slightest.


	4. Words, the Most Powerful Drug

IA lay on the white tiled floor. One arm behind her head, the other trembling at her side.

_Look at me,_ she thought to herself, her inner voice laced with cynicism. _This is pathetic._ _I'm glad there's no one here. _

After running off stage, she had gone barreling down the hall in a panic. She needed to find a bathroom, fast; she couldn't let the paparazzi see her puking into a garbage can like a drunken teenager. IA was already known for getting sick after most of her performances, a seemingly insignificant fact that had turned into a wild rumor that she had an eating disorder. Those obnoxious television anchors had eaten that up, spinning dark images of a self-deprecating young star that had zero self-esteem.

_That isn't me_, IA thought every time she heard those anchors or read the headlines off a tabloid cover. _That's not why._

Then what was it, nerves, pressure, alcohol, drugs? People formulated their own theories, some saying that she was trying desperately to have a perfect body like Luka Megurine. Small waist, voluptuous hips, long, unblemished legs. But no, that wasn't either. It was something else, something deeper, almost psychological…

_Just abstract nonsense, _she thought angrily.

Whatever it was, it was something so ingrained within her mind, her being, that it had become a part of regular life. She didn't mind going into a public restroom, flinging the door open so that it whacked the opposite wall. The common stalls, covered in their indecipherable graffiti, her body doubled over, and then lying on the dirty floor with her eyes shut.

At least the hotel bathroom was clean this time, the white floor shining and polished. IA lay in silence, the butterflies slowly flapping, her body limp, listening to the persistent dripping of a leaky faucet. Inside her head, she was thinking about those words, the ones Yuuma had tried to make her say. It was almost as if that sentence had triggered this episode and every toxic thought of perfection had been expelled from her body.

_What was it again? Perfection is unattain—_

Her insides suddenly clenched and she rolled over, scrunching herself up into a tiny ball. The words, the words were making her feel this way. Somehow, Yuuma had poisoned with that stupid phrase.

IA suddenly heard the door open, so she sat up, her heart pounding. Now she was trapped, she would have to wait for this unknown person to leave. Footsteps echoed and then a pair of black shoes appeared beneath the gap in the stall. Dress shoes, men's shoes. Her eyes widened.

"IA?" a voice said. "IA, are you ok?"

"Go away, Yuuma," she said loudly, wedging herself in the corner between the parallel stall and the wall. "You did this to me."

He laughed, a low, subtle laugh like rustling velvet. "Oh come one, IA. I know that I'm your agent, but you can't blame me for everything." His feet came closer until they were right up to the stall door. "But you feel better now, don't you? After saying it."

"I guess," she said quietly. It was kind of true; the weight that always seemed to be bearing down on her shoulders wasn't quite as heavy anymore. And not only that, but she felt better physically too.

Yuuma sat down, his back against the door. IA could see the soft, grey sweater. Her hand came tentatively forward, wanting to touch it, but she stopped midway. "Your mind affects your body," he said. "You fill yourself up with these irrational dreams of perfection and your brain just says 'enough, already'. And then that feeling transcends your mind and starts affecting you physically, too."

"Why are you so smart?" she asked.

Yuuma laughed again. "Is an agent not allowed to be smart or something?"

"No, no I didn't mean that. I just—" She paused, breathing hard as a sharp pain stabbed her abdomen.

"IA, what's wrong? Feeling sick again?" His voice was full of genuine concern.

"A little," she replied, leaning her head against the wall, her arms wrapped around her waist, trying to crush the pain into oblivion. But it didn't work, it only made it worse.

"Geez, maybe I did poison you," Yuuma said, laughing ironically. "Why don't you try saying it again? It made you feel better before."

"That's stupid," she said through gritted teeth. It wasn't just a low, throbbing pain anymore, it was like something was jammed inside her body, twisting and turning like a knife in an open wound. Or maybe it was just her imagination.

"Just try it. All you have to do is say three little words, that's all."

"Perfection is unattainable," she muttered. And just like before, the effect was instantaneous. She barely made it to the toilet, her back arching as her chest heaved. The arching of the back, normally such a beautiful shape created by the human body, like Len when he was onstage…Len. IA closed her eyes.

_No, I can't think about him, he's nobody, just a faceless dancer._

"Hey, I have an idea," Yuuma suddenly said. "Why don't you just keep repeating it until you can say it without puking?"

For once, IA didn't argue. She was already humiliated; playing along with what he said couldn't do any harm. So she said it, over and over again, until all of the butterflies were finally gone and she lay perfectly still on the cold tile. Her stomach was sore, her throat hurt, but she finally felt better. With quivering lips she said, "Perfection is unattainable," and nothing happened.

"See? It worked," Yuuma said. "Are you all right now?"

She nodded, knowing that he couldn't see her. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Great. Now I'll give you a few minutes, but we have to get out there sooner or later, the whole crew is worried about you. Especially that one backup dancer of yours, the blonde one with—"

But IA wasn't listening, she was just staring at the ceiling, thinking. Yuuma's voice drifted farther and farther away.

"A knife," she said suddenly.

Yuuma stopped talking. "Hmm?"

"That's what it felt like. Like somebody stabbed me in the stomach with a knife."

"Maybe we should get you to a hospital, could be some kind of poisoning." He ripped out his cell phone. "IA, did anyone go up to your room last night? Was anyone near your food?"

She smiled grimly. What could she say, that she had made one of her backup dancers spend the night with her? No, never.

"I'm not poisoned," she said quietly. "I don't need a hospital. I'm fine." She swallowed hard, her eyes wandering. "I was just saying what it felt like because, because that's what my sister did."

There was a pause, Yuuma's finger hovering over the touchscreen. "Your sister stabbed you with a knife?" he asked slowly.

"No," she explained, tears running down her cheeks. "She stabbed herself." IA heard a clattering sound as the phone fell out of Yuuma's hand. "She used a kitchen knife, one that my mom always kept on the cutting board, and then she stabbed herself right in the stomach."

Silence filled the bathroom like a sickening cloud of hairspray. Yuuma stood with his mouth slightly ajar, his eyes staring at the broken phone lying on the floor. He remembered the tabloids and the comments beneath articles, people calling her bulimic, alcoholic, and whatever other name they could think of. He remembered the theories and the way news anchors talked about her, and he suddenly realized that he was the first to know the truth.

The knife, her sister, the feeling she always felt.

_"__Like somebody stabbed me in the stomach with a knife."_

That was why, that was the truth. It wasn't a physical problem it was guilt, a guilt that Yuuma could not even imagine.

Outside the bathroom, outside the hotel, the tour bus was being loaded up. Len was carrying a box of hair accessories. All of the other backup dancers had changed out of their costumes, but not him. He was waiting for Miss IA, and he would wait all day if he had to. The blazing sun overheard shone like a spotlight, melting Len's stage makeup so that the skin beneath his eyes turned black.

"Hey, throw me the box," one of the stagehands said.

"Here." Len threw it to him, looking askance at the hotel. He didn't notice the stagehand laughing.

"Nice eyeliner, kid," he said. "You look like a raccoon!"

Len stared expressionlessly at him. "It's guyliner," he said simply, turning around.

_This is so irritating_, he thought. _I shouldn't have to put up with this. Where is Miss IA?_

Almost as if his thoughts had summoned her, the back door of the hotel opened and she walked out, accompanied by the same man Len had seen earlier.

_Who is that guy?_ he wondered.

"Hey kid, keep it moving," the stagehand shouted.

"Oh, right." Len picked up another box and tossed it over. From his peripheral vision it looked as though IA was holding the man's hand, but when he blinked, he saw nothing. It must have been his imagination.


	5. Melting Glaciers

IA sat with both legs tucked under her lithe body, her fingers slowly tapping the keys of her laptop. The dining area was its own compartment on the tour bus, since everyone knew that she preferred to eat alone. Bars of afternoon light were sliding across the table as the bus shook, the blinds trembling against the windowpane. Harsh rays fells across IA's face, which was stoic and cold.

The video of her performance at the hotel was already on the internet. There were thousands of likes and comments, most of them positive.

The page she was staring at looked like this:

"IA is so Beautiful and cute... I-I think I am in love O_O"

"UR AWESOME IA-CHAN! :D"

(A dozen more encouraging comments)

"This sounds like Luka Luka Night Fever. Seriously, does anyone else notice? Poor Luka…"

This comment was hiding amongst a hundred others, the only impurity in her diamond of affirmative feedback. It was just a single comment written by a single insignificant person, but still, her blue eyes glared at it, unblinking.

_Poor Luka…_she thought blankly. _Is that some kind of joke?_

Her fingers curled into a fist, her teeth gritting as she held back the urge to punch the computer screen.

The compartment door suddenly slid open. IA saw a kind smile, the familiar soft pink hair, and the gorgeous eyes.

"Hey," Yuuma said, sliding the door closed. "It's kind of chilly in here. I thought I'd bring you some tea."

"What kind?" IA asked, running her hands through her hair.

"Black, if that's all right. You have a favorite?"

She shook her head. "No, I was just wondering. Thanks."

"No problem," Yuuma replied with a smile. He sat down in the seat opposite her and placed the cup on the table. Small tongues of steam were rising, bringing with them a wonderful smell that filled the entire compartment.

IA took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "Smells nice," she breathed. "It's very…relaxing."

"And that's exactly what you need, my little pop star," he said playfully, a grin on his face. "So, what are you doing?"

"No wait—" IA started, but he had already grabbed the top of the laptop and bent it backwards so that he could see the screen.

"IA!" he exclaimed. "Why are you looking at stupid comments? Honestly, no celebrity should put themselves through that."

"I-I know," she stammered, her fingers pulling at one of her braids, "but I can't help it and did you see what that one person wrote? It's like everyone around me is an enemy, firing rapidly at me…treating me like an idiot." She lowered her eyes and stared at the cup of tea, the black surface rippling as if a stone had been dropped in.

"You just said it," Yuuma said softly, "one person, one person wrote something mean about you. This 'everyone' that you're picturing inside your head is one person, IA. Realistically, most people love you."

She raised her head, her blue eyes wide. "Really?"

"Yes." He stood up and walked over to the other side of the table, kneeling before her, gently placing his hand atop hers. "I think you're an amazing singer, IA, and most people would agree with me. And the people who don't agree? Forgot them, they're pointless and stupid. Now listen." He grabbed both her hands, raising his head so that their foreheads were almost touching.

IA could see into the depths of his piercing eyes, his beautiful eyes that were somehow kind and fiery, calm and intense. She found herself incapable of speech, and she had to struggle to breath.

"Listen to me," he said passionately. "You've been through so much and overcome things I could never imagine. Because of that and what you've accomplished, you are always the hero in the heart of everyone. You can touch the hearts of millions of people who are just like you. You can help people understand that perfection isn't everything."

"I can," IA whispered, feeling his soft hair against her face. "I can." She looked down at their hands, interlocked and trembling. She saw his face, his eyes, his lips, the tie that was slightly loosened. A shiver went down her back.

The compartment door was suddenly flung open. Yuuma jumped to feet.

"Miss IA, I brought you…oh."

Len was standing outside the door, holding a cup of tea in his hands. His face was expressionless, his mouth slightly ajar.

"Hello," Yuuma said in an overly-cheery voice. "I saw you earlier today, remember?"

"Yeah," Len mumbled, looking around the compartment. After a few seconds his eyes stopped wandering and came to rest on Yuuma. "Who are you, exactly?"

"My new agent," IA explained. "His name is Yuuma."

A smile flitted across his face. "Well, it's nice to meet Miss IA's new agent. I'm Len," he said, his voice slightly constricted.

"Nice meeting you, too." He suddenly looked at his watch and sighed. "Wow, I'm really late for something that I needed to do. Yes, extremely late, so I'll be going now. Have a good day, Len, Miss IA."

Yuuma quickly exited the room, almost hitting his head on the doorframe. Once he was gone, Len placed the cup of tea on the table, noticing the other cup that was still steaming. He walked towards the wall, his back to IA, his heart racing.

_This is something I have to do,_ he told himself. _I'm not jealous, I just need to show her that I'm the one who's always been here…and who always will be._

He remembered his revelation from last night…_there will never be a 'we'. _

_It doesn't matter, _he thought, closing his eyes. _I just can't jeopardize what we…_

He gasped; he had just referred to him and IA as 'we'. Could there have been something more to his feelings, more than a burning agitation for what she put him through? She treated him with a kind of glacial coldness, she made him sing to her in the darkness of night, she used him. But then there were the times that she smiled and lovingly stroked his cheek, confided in him and praised him for being such a good backup dancer. And there were times that her eyes would soften and she would look at him as if she really loved him.

_Rin would think I'm an idiot,_ he thought, his shaking hand coming tentatively to his tie. _But I don't care. Rules are the one thing I hate, because I don't like being bound. That's why I became a dancer. You can do whatever you like and forget about consequences. I'm used, so what, at least I'm wanted._

But that new agent with the pink hair and ridiculous smile was going to ruin it for him, so he did what he had to do.

Slowly, Len unraveled his tie and dropped it on the floor, where it laid rustling like a fallen leaf. Bars of light ran across his figure as he undid the top two buttons of his shirt. He turned to face IA, and walked deliberately across the tile.

The compartment door was shut; nobody was going to come in. Everyone knew that IA preferred to eat alone.

"Miss IA, you did a wonderful job today," he said quietly. "You're such a great singer, way better than Luka." He knew what she liked to hear, and he smiled inwardly as her eyes lit up.

"Thanks, Len. You, uh, did a good job too…" she replied, her voice fading. She was a little bewildered, why was he acting like this? She was usually the one who sought him, calling him to her whenever she was nervous or afraid. But now he was walking towards her, his golden hair hanging in his eyes, his blue eyes burning from within.

He was thinking, _Miss IA and I have one thing in common, jealousy. There's jealousy inside our undermined hearts._

What had come over him? He didn't know. Everyone struggled with a dark side, and this was his. He was jealous and possessive.

His sister had said something about that once, when he had gotten upset because she had found a boyfriend. "You're so funny, Lenny!" she had said, laughing. "Stop acting like my big brother, we're the same age! Don't worry, he's a nice guy, you'd like him."

"I doubt it," Len had grumbled.

"I hope your future girlfriend can put up with you!" Rin had replied, playfully sticking her tongue out. "I swear, you're like a jealous school girl."

_If she only knew,_ Len thought sarcastically. He pushed his sister, his rationale, and his sanity out of his mind and looked down at Miss IA.

Without waiting for her to speak, he sat down on her lap and started kissing her neck, running his hands through her blonde hair.

IA gasped, her arms embracing him, her hands gripping his shirt. She was still in shock, wondering why Len was here, what he was doing, if something was wrong.

A string of words suddenly appeared inside her head, though at the moment, she couldn't remember who had said them.

_"__You are always the hero in the heart of everyone. You can touch the hearts of millions of people who are just like you. You can help people understand that perfection isn't everything."_

"I can," she breathed.

In a louder voice she said, "Stop it, Len."

His whole body froze. "What?" he asked.

"Just stop, you don't," she took a deep breath, "you don't need to do this. You…" Her eyes suddenly welled with tears. The actuality of what she had done, of what she was doing to Len, was all at once before her. Her thoughtlessness and indifference, her egoism and manipulation, she saw it all.

How could she expect people to love a person like her?

_With this lonely logic, this shaken universe, and_ _jealousy in an undermined heart, how could anyone come to love me?_

She was the hero in the heart of everyone…well, actually, that was all a lie. Not in Len's heart, she was no hero there. But she could be, she could change everything now.

Her hand came to his pale face, her fingers enveloping his jaw. "You deserve so much better, Len," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "You deserve so much better than this." And then she kissed his cheek and gently nudged him off her lap. Once she was standing, she grabbed a cup of tea off the table and took a sip, not caring that it was cold. "I'm not going to do this to you anymore, ok, Len? You're not bound to me; you're your own person."

"Miss IA," he muttered, his body still frozen.

She smiled and handed him his tie. "It's ok. I've realized something, and I think I'm going to write a song about it, actually."

"Miss IA," he said again, robotically putting on his tie, buttoning his shirt. He stood up, numb and unaware and headed towards the door.

"I'm sorry," IA said softly as he turned to leave. "I'm sorry that it took me this long to realize."

"It's fine," Len said stiffly.

"No, it's not. But I'll make it up to you." She smiled suddenly. "And think about it, now you go out with any girl you want, and not have to worry about me…getting angry." Her voice faltered for a moment, but then she took another sip of tea and the smile returned. "I think that other backup dancer, Teto, I think she's had a crush on you for a while now."

"Great," Len replied, smiling weakly. "Good night, Miss IA."

He left her in the compartment, her face aglow, her mind free and unburdened. He stood outside the door for a while, not knowing if he should be happy or sad, and wondering which cup of tea she had taken off the table, the one he had brought or the one Yuuma had made for her.


	6. Sucked Up By the Sunset

Six days felt like six trillion years. The tour bus rumbled over the black asphalt, the bright city lights blurring together, becoming a florescent smudge that hurt Len's eyes. Silver skyscrapers rose up like metallic flowers, the massive screens pulsating with images of dancing girls, commercials for popular products, glimpses of IA's emotionless face, and the form of Luka Megurine herself, lying down, her pink hair falling seductively across her lips.

Len watched it all go by, a moving picture show, and he was nothing but a spectator in the audience. For six days he avoided IA's room, wandering through the bus, his hands in his pockets, his blonde bangs hiding his blue eyes. On the sixth day, he stayed in his room with the other dancers. He was tired of walking aimlessly and he needed time to think. The backup dancers would sit in their dressing room and try to evade the inevitable boredom of the tour bus. Playing cards, practicing new dance moves, watching television, anything just to ease the monotony. And there was Len, huddled in the corner, his head against the windowpane. A setting sun, blood-red and swollen, painted the sky orange. Silent tears rolled down his face.

_But there really wasn't a reason why he should crumble down and cry when the sunset dyes the sky…  
because she had taken his hand that night…_

_But never again, _he thought, _never again will she hold my hand._

The glass shuddered beneath his cheek and the sounds of passing cars rattled his eardrums. Every noise went right through him, shaking his bones, his flesh, his mind, his heart. He was an empty shell, drained of all the exhilaration and passion IA had once poured into him. That, he suddenly realized, is what he missed the most. IA used to want him, want him so bad, and whenever they had been together he had felt all of her desire as if it were a tangible thing. The way she grabbed at his hair and pressed her lips against his, arching her back as a chill went up her spine.

"I'm going to write a song for you," she had once whispered in his ear, late at night, deep in the secret recesses of their clandestine love affair. And she had written Len a song, "IA IA Night of Desire" was for him, and him alone.

"Not anymore," he muttered. That new agent had taken his place, and he had been tossed aside, entirely forgotten. _Stupid Yuuma, _Len thought,_ he's no good for her. He's got an obnoxious smile, ridiculous hair, and he's going to use her…I can tell._

_But IA used you, _a voice said softly inside his head.

"I know, shut up," he growled.

"Uh, Len, are you ok?"

Len jumped, almost toppling out of his chair. Gripping the windowsill for support, he looked up at the girl standing in front of him. For a split second, he thought it was IA, but then he blinked and the pink-tinged hair became red.

"Oh, Teto, it's you," Len said.

Two red pigtails, crimson eyes, a slight and slender body with her hands dangling by her side, her toes turned in as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. Teto was Len's age, but her innocent demeanor made her look a lot younger. A backup dancer just like him, but unlike him, she was content with where she was. While Len aspired to break out of the background and come into the spotlight, Teto had accomplished her dream. Dancing with a famous pop star, that is all she ever wanted.

She smiled shyly at Len and asked again, "You ok?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine…just fine." He looked out the window, down at the racing cars below, and an idea hit him, making his eyes widen.

What had IA said six days earlier as he stood inside her car, half-dressed, the unknown cup of tea in her hand?

_"__And think about it, now you go out with any girl you want, and not have to worry about me…getting angry…I think that other backup dancer, Teto, I think she's had a crush on you for a while now."_

Len replayed those words over and over again inside his head. He recalled IA's face, the way she had smiled softly at him, her candied lips forming every words, her tongue savoring each syllable. It was almost as if he had been a burden to her all along, and six days ago she had finally shed that burden. She was working on a new song now, everyone said she looked happier and more relaxed than ever before, and it was all because he was no longer a part of her life. Len felt the hot tears pressing against his eyelashes.

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot," Teto piped up, oblivious to Len's gritted teeth and trembling fists. "This is for you, from Miss IA." She produced a slip of paper from her pocket, a few bread crumbs falling to the floor as she did so.

Len took it wordlessly and glared at the small, curvy handwriting:

Unnoticed by the public eye, you stood there by my side.

Thanks for always being there, Len.

-IA

Thankfulness, that was all she could give him. _That's it?! That's all she has to say to me?_

He was sitting there, staring at the note with unblinking eyes, when Teto playfully punched him in the arm. "Hello? Have you been listening to me?"

"Huh? Uh, no, what?"

Teto rolled her eyes. "I was just saying that we should go eat. Yuki ran in here like five minutes ago and said that dinner was ready. And she said that Mr. Yuuma made everyone tea! I heard Miss IA say that Yuuma's the best when it comes to making tea!"

"Tea…" Len repeated. "She's had his tea before…but, the other night…" Suddenly, he felt sick and unsteady, like the world was spinning around him. Six days ago, he had brought IA tea, but so had Yuuma. The cup that IA had grabbed, the one that she had spun in her hand, the one that had been touched by her lips…it had been Yuuma's. Like a coursing river the pain and rejection hit, and his hands acted of their own accord, crumpling the note with shaking fingers. He stood up, his shoulders heaving, his bangs drenched with sweat. A few moments of silence passed, Len staring at the floor, Teto uncomfortably twirling her pigtails.

Then, in a fit of jealous rage, he wrenched the window open and threw the shredded bits of paper out into traffic, all the while screaming, "YOU USED ME! YOU USED ME!"

"What are you doing?" Teto cried.

Len ignored her and tore his shoes off. They had been a birthday present from IA, another reminder of her betrayal. He chucked the shoes out the window, followed by the gold watch he always wore and the pair of headphones he kept around his neck, all of them presents from IA. Outside the bus, cars shrieked as drivers slammed on the brakes. Horns honked, people shouted, and tires squealed. Nothing but a pair of shoes, some headphones, and a wristwatch, but at fifty miles an hour they were terrifying as they came hurdling down the street.

"Stop it!" Teto shrieked, tackling Len from behind. "What is wrong with you?"

She had him pinned to the floor, her eyes blazing, her face twisted in confusion. "You can't throw things out of moving bus!" she yelled, digging her knee into his abdomen. "Seriously, what's your problem?"

Len said nothing, his eyes fixed on Teto, his heart pounding. Her words were mindless and empty to his ears; he heard nothing but the beating of his heart inside his chest.

All he heard was, "Just snap out of it!" and then Teto slapped him in the face. He laid on the floor, silent, a red handprint slowly appearing on his left cheek.

Teto shook her head and went to stand up, but just as she lifted her knee off Len's stomach, the bus lurched to halt and the two of them went tumbling forward. Len landed atop Teto, his hands poised next her head. Footsteps echoed out in the hall, the floor shook, and the door burst open.

"What is going on in here?!" the stage director roared. "Cars are swerving everywhere outside, somebody saw a shoe go flying past their window, and who was…oh."

The director's eyes fell on Len and Teto, as did a dozen other pairs of eyes, all craning to see what was going on.

"I-I swear it's not what it looks like!" Len said, jumping off Teto, his hands in the hair. "I wasn't—"

"Kagamine."

"Sir, I swear!"

"Kagamine, were you throwing things out the window?"

"Yes, but that doesn't mean I—"

"Are you some kind of idiot? Do you have any idea what this does to us, to IA?" He grabbed Len by the collar. "You almost caused an accident! If you want to throw things go do it somewhere else, not while you're on IA's bus! She has enough problems as it is!" Growling, he punched Len in the face, sending him flying into the wall. Len braced himself against the window, shocked and afraid. He stood there, panting, not even bothering to wipe the blood off his chin. "Where's Miss IA?" he asked suddenly.

"In another car, we had to get her off the bus before the media starts showing up. Because of you, we all look like a bunch of fools, and the headlines tomorrow will undoubtedly read 'IA's tour bus almost causes accident'. So nice work." The stage director loomed over Len like a thundercloud. "On top of everything else, I DO NOT tolerate assault of any kind—"

"I wasn't doing anything to Teto, I promise! We fell, it was an accident!" Len fell to his knees, tears pricking his eyes. "Please, I'm telling the truth!" He looked askance at Teto, who was still sitting on the floor, her face blank. "Why don't you say something?" he mouthed. Her crimson eyes fluttered briefly, but she never looked at his face. She sat in silence, refusing to speak up.

"Get. Up," the director said. "Get up you pervert, and get off my bus."

Len opened his mouth, but no words came out. The room was dead quiet.

The stage director turned and walked out of the room, trying to contain his anger. Two of the stagehands came forward, lifted Len to his feet, and led him out of the room and into the hall. The eyes continued to stare. Every single set of unblinking eyeballs was fixed on Len, except for the crimson ones; they looked down at the floor.

Len allowed himself to be dragged. He felt like he was floating, and then he was falling as the front door opened and he was shoved out into the street. He fell face first onto the curb, a few seconds later his old, worn duffle bag landed beside him. The bus sprang to life as the wheels screeched, and then it was gone, leaving behind a cloud of choking smog.

A few people glanced at Len, looking up from their phones just long enough to see him lying there. But no one came to help, so he sat alone on the curb, his tears evaporated, sucked up into the blazing sunset.


	7. A Logical Envy

"So what happened back there?" IA asked, twirling a few strands of hair between her fingers.

"Apparently some idiot was throwing shoes out of the bus window?" Yuuma replied with a shrug. "I'm not really sure." He sighed and ran his hands down his face. Faint purple circles were beginning to form under his eyes, obvious against his white skin. The blossoming half-moons, colored indigo beneath his golden irises, reminded IA of flower petals for some strange reason. Dozens of individual petals plucked by a pale hand, and a pale face looking up, tears sliding down pale cheeks. The visage of her sister came to IA's mind, but she forced it back into her memory, slowly shaking her head back and forth.

"You ok?" Yuuma asked softly.

IA nodded. "Yeah, I'm just thinking, that's all."

"About what?"

"Everything. My sister, my new song, the incident on the bus." She tapped her cellphone against her lips and rested her head atop her knees. " I hope…hope that it's not all over the internet by now."

"Stop it," Yuuma said, nudging her in the arm. "Don't worry about the internet, I've got it covered. This will not affect your next performance, I promise. Now just relax, take a nap or something."

"A cup of tea would be nice," she said with a smile. He laughed, and the sound of his voice was like velvet. A shiver ran up IA's spine, her eyelashes fluttering. She did not protest when her sleeve fell below her shoulder, revealing the black tattoo. On the contrary, she let it fall and her blue eyes looked through their peripherals at the pink haired agent sitting beside her. Yuuma was staring intently at his phone, and had noticed nothing. A sweet sigh escaped IA's lips. Her new agent was difficult to read and even harder to attract. IA wanted him, though, just as she had wanted Len.

Len, the thought of him turned her stomach, and she felt that familiar pain in her abdomen. _But I felt fine a second ago! _she thought irritably. _It's him, it has to be. It's the thought of Len._

"What's wrong?" Yuuma suddenly asked.

"Noth…" IA stopped short. She was about to say "nothing, I'm fine," and huddle in the corner of the limousine, alone with her blonde haired and blue eyed thoughts, but she held her tongue. Taking a deep breath, the pain burrowing deeper into her side, she told the truth. "I feel sick, like I did at my last show."

"So right here then?" Yuuma's long fingers touched her slender stomach and she winced.

"Yeah…but wait, now it's going away." She waited for a few moments, sitting perfectly still, anticipating the return of pain. But nothing came. "I think it's because you touched me," she breathed.

The velvet laugh returned. "I'm flattered, but I'm no miracle worker." He adjusted his tie and slid his hands through his pink hair. "It sounds like a psychological pain if you ask me. What were you thinking about when you started feeling unwell?"

IA felt as though her blood had turned to ice. A melting glacier in reverse, her limbs stiffening and her heart slowing. What could she say, that Len, the beautiful backup dancer with whom she had once had an affair with was her source of agony? That the other night she had finally set him free and now she felt lost, proud of her judgments, but lost. Her very own golden canary, one that rarely ever sang for her, with yellow feathers and bright blue eyes. She had shoved him out of the cage and into the open world, away from all of her obsession and malice. True, she felt happier ever since that night. Light as air, she walked more brusquely, and a smile would come every once in a while. But she was still skilled at wearing masks, and all though her singing career was rocketing skyward, her passions, needs, and desires were knotted together in a web of insanity.

_Hmm, insanity…another good name for a song._

"May I ask you a question?"

IA started. Yuuma's voice, silkier than ever, had startled her. "Sure, what is it?"

Becoming suddenly interested in a bare thread sticking out of his sweater, Yuuma asked, "Did you and that backup dancer ever have a thing?"

IA could feel her eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"Oh come on, IA, you know what I mean," Yuuma said, exasperated. He yanked the thread off and threw it to the floor. "Whether you want to call it a thing, a rendezvous, a hook-up, there all the same." He looked at her with his hawk-like eyes. "So, did you?"

"Uh, I, h-how is that any of your business?"

Yuuma smiled devilishly. "I'll take that as a yes then."

"No, wait, I just, uh…" IA's face was reddening, sweat beading on her forehead.

Abruptly, Yuuma placed his hand on her shoulder. "Relax, it's fine. I'm your agent, which means I am your coach, personal assistant, financial advisor, and psychiatrist all in one. Anything you say to me will be kept completely confidential, ok?"

She brushed her hand over the diamond tattoo, "Gonna live, gonna fly. Gonna fail, gonna die," and nodded deliberately. "I trust you, I really do. It's just embarrassing, what a mess I am." She laughed without emotion as the tears flowed freely down her face. "Sick all the time, using innocent backup dancers to boost my self-esteem. It's disgusting…I'm disgusting."

His fingers moved through her hair, and he laid his head on her slight shoulder. "You are not disgusting," he said quietly. "You are beautiful, and you are a star."

"No," IA said, shaking her head. "I am a lie that makes up me. In reality, I am nothing but a lie. I feel like I'm the worst, so I always act like I'm the best. Don't you see, Yuuma? I truly am disgusting."

"Enough," he said sternly. "You're not thinking logically, IA. You are the hero inside everyone, remember? You know you aren't perfect, and that's a good thing. Hold on to your imperfections, they make you human, and not a cold-hearted machine."

IA laughed faintly at his words and he raised his eyebrows. "What?"

"It's just, they say that about me on the radio sometimes. That I 'walk and talk like a machine'."

"Well, at next week's show, we're going to prove them wrong for sure," Yuuma said with a smile. "Now relax and talk to me, I'll listen to whatever you say."

And that is just what she did, talk openly, without resistance. She told Yuuma all about Len and the secret meetings, the overnight stays and the conflicted feelings. Yuuma asked many questions.

Do you love him? _I don't think so, well I don't know._

Do you miss him? _Yes, kind of._

But do you miss him physically or emotionally speaking? _Physically, maybe both?_

What did he make you feel? _Desire._

Yuuma sighed and threw another paper plane across the limo. He had started making them out of IA's concert flyers while she talked. "Well, I know your problem. You need to stop thinking about Len. Somehow, and I can't explain it, he makes you sick, literally."

_It is true, I guess, _IA thought. She knew she would never be entirely free of the stabbing pains, not as long as her sister floated around inside her head, but if forgetting would help her feel better, it was worth a shot. Maybe. Kind of. Perhaps.

_Whatever. Stop it, with this lonely logic and shaken universe you'll never get anywhere, IA. Remember, you know exactly what you want and who you want to be. And in order to become what you want, some will have to be left behind…_

"So what do I do?" she asked, her voice loud and forceful.

Yuuma's hand paused midair, the paper plane sliding out of his fingers. "It's obvious, isn't it? We just have to find you a new Len."

"Are you an idiot? That doesn't make any sense," IA snapped. "Wouldn't that just mess everything up again?"

"I take severe umbrage to that statement," Yuuma said, adjusting his tie. "I'm not an idiot, I have a master's degree just so you know."

"Whatever, whatever," IA said, waving him off. "Just explain how what you said will help me."

"Instead of a backup dancer, or anyone in the background for the matter, you go with someone in the spotlight, a star. That way, no one will feel used, or the using won't be as obvious at least."

"But why do I need someone at all?" IA asked, watching the paper plane as it glided around the limo.

"You should be asking yourself that," Yuuma said gently. "And like you said before, you have certain 'desires' and you need somebody."

IA felt the habitual shiver run up her spine, and her cheeks turned red. "Well, what about—"

"No, no, you can't decide. I'll fix it all up, you'll see. Just focus on the concert next week and leave the rest to me." With a smile and a playful wink, Yuuma got out of the limo, which had parked at the back of their latest hotel. He quickly shut the door behind him and leaned for half a second against the low, black roof. "Was she going to suggest me?" he said to himself. "Yeah right, I'm just an agent, not a miracle worker." He laughed and walked towards the hotel, trying to think logically and finding that it was harder than he imagined.

* * *

_Avenue three, a street cramped with old neon lights, appears a cat full of curiosity._

Golden hair falling in front of muted eyes, vacant pupils cast down into the empty bottle. Len ran his fingers over the dark glass and sighed. The bar was almost empty. Faceless men were leaving, the door creaking on its hinges. Clack of high heels on the scratched wood, tap of fingernails on the counter, flies buzzing, the fan spinning, so many sounds bombarding Len's ears. Paranoia was sinking in, wanting to spin the world around with nails that decorate the entire night black. Long, red nails, like those of the women that prowled around the edge of the bar. Len could feel their eyes on him.

He felt their presence, as apparent as the smell of alcohol that hung in the air. Their eyes were needles hovering over his skin, filled with an intoxicating poison that would quickly consume his veins. One look would kill him, he was sure of it. The women, with their hot, blood-red mouths, were calling to him, his body on needles and pins. But soon they slipped away, back into the shadows, their nails scratching the walls.

Len sat in silence, the cigarette smoke swirling around him, the smell of liquor, rotten wood, and despair heavier than his heart. The red-light district was a separate world, a place full of stray cats and filth, where beauty was stolen and love potion was camouflaged with lip gloss. Romance was a guilty labyrinth and the sky was always black.

"You want another one?"

Len looked up. The bartender was standing in front of him, his shoulders slumped, a used dishrag in hand.

"No thanks," he muttered.

"Alright, so here's the bill, kid." The bartender laid the piece of paper on the slick countertop, and then walked slowly away. His footsteps echoed throughout the room, the sounds bouncing off the crack mirror and settling inside Len's hazy brain. Thoughts were swimming in front of his eyes, quivering eyelashes and strands of pink-tinged hair. Blind beliefs, pleasure, infections, black cat envy that pulled at Len's heartstrings and made him shiver.

_Maybe I'm not so different from IA after all…_

His eyes fell on the bill, suddenly wet with condensation and tear stains. "Crap…I can't…I have no money." He ran his hands down his face and groaned. "I'm an idiot."

The bartender glanced over at Len. "Is there a problem?"

"Look, I'm really sorry, but I—"

"Don't tell me you can't pay," the bartender growled. "You want a black eye, kid?"

"No, listen, I forgot—"

"That you were broke? Well your little slip up is gonna cost you, kid." He shoved Len with one arm, causing the bar stool to shake.

"Hey, there's no need to get violent," a sultry voice suddenly said from behind.

A rain of perfume enveloped Len's senses as locks of yellow hair tumbled across his shoulder and a hand touched his neck. Cold lips against his ear, sharp fingernails painted blue, and the feel of leather against his skin. A woman was leaning over him, breathing softly, fingering the soggy piece of paper that lay on the counter.

"Why don't I cover your bill, sweetie?" she said. "This a rough neighborhood, no one should be alone." Her fingers entangled themselves in his hair. "I can help you, for a price."

"You'll pay for me…" Len mused, laughing without emotion. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around? You know, I pay you so I can…"

"Test me out?" the woman said, stroking his cheek. "Sweetheart, there is no right way. Just go with it, dance with the bewitching flow. Let me pay, and then take me away from here."

"You're awfully poetic for a prostitute," Len grumbled, running his fingers over the empty bottle. Everything was cloudy, sweat was beading on his forehead, and his vision was ringed in red.

"I wasn't always like this," she said, her words sad. "Maybe I went to school once, wrote a book, published poetry, you don't know." She giggled and that professional seduction returned to her voice. "And that's the best part, we're strangers, void of pain and betrayal."

"Betrayal," Len repeated softly. _No more betrayal. No more sadness, loneliness, no more IA. _Len sighed and held her hand against his cheek."Pay up then."

"I knew you'd come around," she said, placing a few dollars on the counter. "I've got this covered," she said to the bartender. He grumbled something and grabbed the money, a half-full bottle in his right hand. With the smell of crisp dollars and the rattle of coins, the bartender forgot all about his plans to pummel Len. He disappeared into the back, leaving the backup dancer alone with the yellow haired, prostitute.

"So where are you staying?" the woman asked.

Len shrugged. "Nowhere."

The woman paused, running her tongue over her lips, her electric blue eyes narrowing. Len now had a chance to see her clearly. Yellow hair, long and wild, her eyes an unrealistic shade of icy blue. Her skin was pale and cold-looking, her figure was beautiful, a marble-like body and curvy thighs. She was dressed in a short yellow skirt and black leather jacket that reached down to her calves. A black collar was around her neck, locks of her hair caught beneath the leather.

"Well no matter, you can come to my place." She grabbed Len's hand. "Come, my sweet, into my guilty labyrinth and let us walk down the envy catwalk."


	8. Hyperfocal Distance

"Just bend your knee a little more," the photographer said. His face was obscured by the hulking, black camera that glared like an ebony eye, lidless and penetrating. IA felt self-conscious beneath its gaze. A cone of probing light cut through her body and touched her spine. She closed her eyes as her back arched and sweat beaded on her forehead. Claustrophobia, paranoia, insecurity, all of these feelings were burning inside her. Her body, flawless as milk crystal, was stiff and disconnected; hours under the lens had taken its toll.

The day of her performance, IA was busy at a photo shoot. _I don't belong here, _she thought. _These photographers are making a fool of me. I should be practicing, singing, psyching myself up for tonight…but no, I'm here._

Dark eyelashes fluttered as blue eyes rolled. There was no use in thinking those lonely thoughts, her goal was success and if being scrutinized by strange men was what it took, she would comply. Six pictures in each campaign, IA was made to wear two different costumes. Her signature outfit was one of them, the black half shirt, pink skirt, and boots. Long, pink-tinged locks spilled across the white background as she lay on the floor, her body frozen as the camera flashed. One leg was propped up on a speaker, her knee bent so that her smooth thigh was fully visible; the right leg was on the other side of the prop. Her abdomen glanced off the blinding ground, her left arm keeping balance while the other curved as her delicate fingers held a black wire over her head. An odd scene, almost as if she was about to stand up, her eyes wide and unreadable, her habitual expression that of an innocent child.

The photographer stood at a precise angle, only a few millimeters to the left and he would have been able to see up her skirt. A black haired man with serious eyes, he was professional and calculating, IA kind of liked him. But she could feel the gaze of his assistant, a young man with his hands in his pockets, and he made her nervous.

"Are you ok?" the photographer suddenly said. "Want to take a break?"

"No, no, I'm fine," IA said softly, taking a deep breath. "Just a little light-headed. You can keep going."

_Probably because you haven't eaten in four days, _a voice that sounded an awful lot like Yuuma said. The blue orbs rolled again as she readjusted her pose, staring directly at the camera's quavering shutter. True, she had not consumed anything either than tea, but she was just being careful. Not eating meant not feeling sick; her stomach felt empty and surprisingly light. Besides, Luka Megurine had recently lost weight, making her body look even more remarkable. IA had seen Luka in a magazine the other day, walking along the beach with her boyfriend, Gakupo, her perfect figure glowing in the warm sun.

"It wouldn't kill me to lose some weight," IA had muttered to herself, and then she had run off to the bathroom. In such a short time, those television anchors who speculated about her sickness were suddenly proven right…

Called 'too skinny' for most of her life, she had never had issues with her weight, but being alone had changed her. Without Len to whisper sweet compliments into her ear at night, she felt unsure. Little bits of candy that her golden bird had slipped into her mouth, those precious praises were sorely missed. Her beating heart longed for a companion, and the shiver up her spine longed for someone to touch.

"I want to be awestruck," she whispered, her mind half-aware. A rapid blink and she was back in the studio, lights blaring, camera clicking.

"There! Hold that expression, it's perfect!" the photographer exclaimed. She was obedient, her brain foggy, the word 'success' painted across her brain. At last, the frame was complete, and then she changed positions. Standing up, one hand on her chest, her mouth open as if gasping, her legs striding toward the camera. A fan was placed before her, the rushing air cooling her sweat-dampened face. It was refreshing, a slipstream of clean air that brushed her cheekbones and coursed through her hair.

It reminded her of a day at the beach, years ago, when she and her sister had gone looking for shells. A thousand pairs of white angel wings all laid out along the shore, spiraled conchs glimmering beneath the water, and her sister crouched by a tide pool, her eyes blank. "Look, sis, see how pretty it is?" IA had said, holding out a bleached sand dollar, perfectly intact. The black haired girl had stared at it, emotionless, and then she had grabbed it and snapped it in two, letting it fall into the shallow pool.

"IA? IA?"

The photographer's voice pulled her back to reality. "Huh?"

"I was saying that we're done for now. We'll have a ten minute break and then you'll change into your next outfit, all right?"

"Oh yeah, sure, sure," IA muttered.

"You're doing a great job, so far. These pictures look gorgeous. You just have this face, it's so mysterious and dreamy, like—" He stopped, his face reddening, and started laughing. "Sorry, I'm ranting here. I'll just go set up the new backdrop." He walked away, still snickering embarrassedly, and IA was left alone.

The studio was filled with people, makeup artists, designers, assistants, and a dozen others. No one bothered IA, though, they knew to keep their distance. She stood in the corner of the room, dissonance in her head, and was reminded of a song that she had once heard Len sing while he was taking a shower. Len, she had not seen him since arriving at the hotel. It wasn't as though she expected him to show up at her door, but still, her heart held onto that single hope. And a useless hope it was, she hadn't seen any of the backup dancers since last week on the bus. They were all staying in different rooms, away from IA's, but maybe she would catch a glimpse of Len…maybe she would hear that song again.

_"__I got wet with rain,  
My hair looked frozen  
I gave vent to loneliness  
Into a toilet bowl  
I'm shivering and waiting for you_

_I chase you  
And then run away from you,  
So chase me more_

_I'm serious,  
If you think it's a joke,  
You'll get hurt, understood?"_

She realized how accurate that song was, how perfectly it painted their relationship. But then she remembered that they were no longer in a relationship and her head reeled. Staggering forward, she bumped into a small, glass table. The cup of water sitting atop it flew off, hitting the ground hard and flinging droplets into the air. IA stared at the wet plastic, watching as the water pooled on the concrete floor. Footsteps sounded behind her, but she did not turn around.

"You going to clean that up?" Yuuma asked playfully. IA said nothing and continued to stare at the floor.

"Hello?" Yuuma said, waving his hand in front of her face. "Earth to IA. What's with you today? You're all distracted." When she didn't respond he lifted her chin and looked into her eyes. "What happened to the happy-go-lucky IA? She was here for almost two weeks and now she's gone, melted like a summer glacier." He smiled sadly. "I miss her."

"Summers end, glaciers melt, happiness fades," she said quietly. Her eyes fell on the donut in Yuuma's hand. "What are you eating?"

"Come on, IA, you've never seen a donut before?" He took a bite. "Mmm, delicious."

"Why are you eating in here?"

"I was hungry, obviously," he said, raising his eyebrows. "It's nine in the morning, and I didn't eat breakfast."

IA was trying hard not to look at it. The sickly sweetness, the sticky glaze and golden dough, it was too much. A number of things flashed through her head when she looked at it, her sister's face, Len's eyes, and then Luka Megurine, the picture of faultlessness. "I have to go to the restroom," she muttered, pushing past Yuuma.

"IA." He said, grabbing her arm. "You feel sick?"

"No." And that was the truth. She felt no pain, no compulsive butterflies. "No, it's my choice," she said, barely audible. Then, raising her voice, "I'll be right out."

Yuuma nodded, his golden eyes narrowed skeptically. The photographers prepared while IA gave vent to her loneliness.

* * *

Coarse against his skin, the dank sheets were nothing like the ones in IA's hotel room.

"Miss IA…" Len breathed. Her name slipped effortlessly past his teeth, an action as simple as breathing. Blonde hair, blue eyes lit up in the darkness, her existence was like air to him, ever present even as he lay next to another. He ran his hands down his face and moaned softly. Every night with the yellow-haired prostitute was another knife in his conscience. Twisting and bleeding as the guilt overtook him; his mind became raw and feverish. IA was always there, seen by waking eyes, seen in the rolling terrors of dreams. So he crept further into the labyrinth, pressing his lips against the prostitute's, shutting his eyes as the lips became soft and sugar-coated. Tears would threaten to fall, but nothing ever came.

IA haunted him, and she was driving him towards insanity.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. A fan was spinning overhead, broken blades sending down a rain of air and dust. Len choked as years of filth spiraled down his throat. Wracked by a coughing fit, he sat up, his bare chest heaving.

"What was that?" a tired voice said. The girl lying next to him had stirred beneath the sheets. She had a name, it was Lily, but Len referred to her as 'the yellow-haired prostitute' inside his head.

"Nothing, go back to sleep," Len said, the cough subsiding. Lily mumbled something and closed her eyes.

Chest still, breathing even, Len stared at the floor. Moon beams peeked in between the blinds, slashing his face into a million pieces of shadow and light. Slashed, shattered, broken just like the diamond on IA's shoulder. A wry smile spread across his face. _It all goes back to her, doesn't it?_

Their love had been scandalous, if one could even call it love. Ever since the affair began, Len had longed for it to end. He once concealed a secret hatred for IA, the feelings of defilement roiling inside him. Then he had seen her with Yuuma, and suddenly he wasn't so sure. Did he love her, had he loved her all along?

The sound of a police siren cut across his consciousness. He jolted, his elbow knocking over a glass of water sitting on the night stand.

"Heard something again," Lily murmured. She rolled over, her hair strung across her sweaty face, and touched Len's arm. "You hear it too?"

Len shuddered. Her fingers were so cold, his skin was so hot. The result, a burning sensation that spread across his body. Whispering, "Let's go," into his ear every night, repeating her rehearsed lines, Lily was a cheap plastic vase filled with false passion.

In her eyes, love was cheap, bad luck was cheap, she was cheap, and the whole world might as well have been a rotten gumball inside a vending machine.

Len laughed and shook his head. _What am I doing? This isn't some cheesy TV show; I shouldn't be acting like this. If Rin knew…_Tears pricked at his eyes. _It would break her heart._

Lily touched his arm again. "You hear that?"

"No, I hear nothing," he said, his eyes burning. "Nothing." Without another word, he got out of bed, nearly slipping in the puddle of spilled water as he got dressed.

"You're leaving?" Lily asked.

"Yes, I can't stay here anymore." He looked around at the dark room. A stinking, sinful hole in the wall with scratched floors and peeling paint. The rickety bed was a vessel in the center of tar pit, nothing like the one in IA's hotel room. Len zipped up his jacket, his back to Lily. "I can't see you anymore. I had dreams and goals before this and now I'm throwing it all away. Two weeks ago I was somebody, and now I'm just another customer. Sorry, Lily. Thanks for paying for my drinks."

The yellow haired prostitute was silent, so Len pulled his hood up and walked out of the bedroom, never stopping to look at her face. If he had turned around, he would have seen a young girl leaning against the grimy wall, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her skin burned and her body trembled.

"I had dreams, too," she whimpered. "I used to be somebody. But it's just too cold…the world is just too cold a place."

* * *

IA looked absolutely stunning in the white, knee-length dress. It hugged her chest and torso, fanning out at her waist. Lacy petticoats made it stick out so that she appeared to be floating on a cloud. The dress had a simple, eyelet trim and a low neckline that was interrupted by a white bow. Two satin straps held up by her slight shoulders, her arms poised to side, as if she were about to take flight. She wore white gloves with elaborate cuffs on both hands and a white choker around her neck. The two blonde braids were tied with blue ribbon, and her hair flailed behind her. The completing factor was a pair of gossamer wings attached to her back. Their plumes were cellophane, rippling with blues, violets, and emerald greens. Barefoot, eyes wide, she was an angel. And it was fitting, since she was doing a campaign for her new perfume, Identity Angel.

This part of the photo shoot was easier than the first. It was mainly close-ups, her hair flailing behind her, blue eyes glistening, unblemished skin glowing beneath the spotlights. She did look angelic, a fallen angel lost in the folds of love and sin. The expression on her face was one of mystery and ambiguity; was she about to cry or punch somebody? The answer was unclear, and the photographer was eating it up.

"Perfect! Perfect! You're gorgeous, IA!"

Perfect, the forbidden word Yuuma told her never to say. Now it was branded across her forehead and seared into her brain. She saw it and tried not to want it. Focusing on the future, she blocked the word from her mind and pictured herself onstage.

_I know exactly what I want and who I want to be. The hero inside of everyone, even though that's a lie, that's who I will be tonight._

And then the after party would follow, a celebration of her success. Someone would be there, someone who would ease her loneliness and tell her she was beautiful. Her back arched and the photographer yelled, "Gorgeous! Hold that!" IA did not hear him. She was picturing the party, the faceless wonder that she would meet. Finally, she would rid herself of the memory of Len. Even if she saw him there, dancing under the black lights, she would not care. _He's nothing, _she told herself. _Just a backup dancer. I won't let him distract me at my performance tonight. Just a dancer…yeah, that's it._

After the photo shoot, she took a nap inside her dressing room. Strange dreams coursed through her brain. Len was dancing in the middle of a dark room, an unknown stranger was lurking just outside the cone of muted light, and Yuuma was suddenly behind her, his head resting on her shoulder. "You can't have everything you want," he whispered in her ear. Abruptly, the scene went black and IA found herself in total darkness. Three different hands were grabbing at her arm, one with nails painted yellow, one without any nail polish at all; the fingers long and soft, the last hand had nails painted sea-foam green. She gasped, pushing them away, and then they were gone.


	9. Thinking of Epimetheus

A thin black tree over a blanket of snow, a swing tied to its branches. Yuuma sat next to a girl with light brown hair drawn into low pigtails. A black bow hidden within the chocolate tresses, emerald green eyes, and a youthful face full of curiosity. The white hat on her head hung down past her neck, alighting on her pale shoulders. Yuuma wrapped his arm around her and held her fragile body against him. Orange fabric of her shirt, bright as the coming sunset, crinkled beneath his fingers. "Eika," he whispered. "You'll be ok. I'll write poetry for you every day, and you'll get stronger. Even when you're in the hospital, you'll never be alone."

"Neither will you," she said, smiling sadly. Her hands, so small and childlike, grabbed his face and her lips touched his cheek. The kiss melted like chocolate and Yuuma sighed.

"Eika Sachi," he breathed, and then his eyes opened. Hard metal rested beneath his cheek, the cold exterior of his desk, so unlike Eika's kisses. After IA's photo shoot, he had slipped into his hotel room, thoroughly exhausted, and fallen asleep. The purple bruises beneath his eyes were darker than ever, his hair was bedraggled and matted against his forehead. Being IA's agent was draining. Her fits of sadness, low self-esteem, and ambiguous problems, it was all so tiring.

_And now she's hiding something, _he thought, running his hands down his face. _Hiding a secret within that beautifully impassive body. _He laughed softly. _Yes, she sure is beautiful._

His golden eyes fell upon the piece of paper at the edge of his desk. Crumpled, tea stains on its surface; it stared up at him like an accusing witness.

_You only write poems for Eika, _it seemed to whisper. _She deserves your passion, not your blonde haired, wide-eyed client._

_But Eika's dead._

Another bout of cynical laughter slipped through his teeth. "It's not a bad poem, though," he said with a shrug. "Truly one of my best, if I do say so myself." Long fingers, so perfect for playing the piano, stroked the black words, the ink still damp.

The White Rabbit's Poem

Hi, Miss Alice.

First thing on a dreamy morning, I'm crying.

All alone in this wide empty, world.

I watch you fast asleep.

With your glass eyes what kind of dream can you see?

I'll say, "What can you see in that fringed world?"

I want to have colored dreams too.

In you and I there's a new land where fears melt away.

But tomorrow we'll be taking different paths.

The sound of your shoes remains in my ears and resounds as far as that path.

I want to cry, you won't reach my feelings in this sky.

I think to myself, "couldn't keep her quite contented, could you?"

Love ends with the light shining in, sitting in a garden and waiting for the sun.

I'm crying, I'm crying.

We are all together in my sanctuary, my sanctuary now.

Hi, Miss Alice, do you remember that constellation somehow?

Still you do not answer.

Perhaps those thoughts had passed through the white rabbit's brain as Alice ascended into adulthood. Feelings of loss and disappointment. Almost as if he had failed her. Miss Alice, those words made Yuuma think of Len, the discarded backup dancer who had always said 'Miss IA'.

"Poor kid," Yuuma said to the crumpled piece of paper. "Sure, I got the feeling that he didn't like me, but I still feel bad for him. He was like a puppet, and now his puppeteer has abandoned him." He picked up the poem and folded into a paper plane, watching as it glided lazily across the room. The plane struck a wall, and Yuuma suddenly had an idea.

_He and IA were…'friends' for a while, I'm sure he knows a lot more about her than I do. Maybe I could invite him over for tea, talk to him, see what he knows about the girl behind the mask._

"Yeah, that's what I'll do. Right after I schedule another photo shoot and a meeting with her record label, and reserve the recording studio." He laughed and shook his head. "And there are about five other things I'm missing. It never ends." Readjusting his tie, Yuuma stood up and headed towards the door, leaving the paper plane crumpled on the ground.

* * *

Water dripped down the foggy mirror. IA stared up at the white ceiling that stretched out above her like the sky. She felt the white tile behind her head, wet with shower water. She was leaning against the bathroom wall; her body slouched and her arms lagging at her side. How long had she been sitting there? Glaring blankly at a nonexistent world of overflowing water and light. Blue eyes closed in the hot mist; the eyelashes fluttered helplessly, and then reopened, much like the petals of a newborn flower. Time crept by on all fours as beads of sweat dripped down IA's face. A droplet of water fell from the shower head and hit her porcelain cheek, sliding down her skin and disappearing between her pink lips.

Breathe in and out, the steam spiraling down her throat. The bathtub was perfect, something she would never be. Soap suds clung to the ceramic, glistening trails of shampoo ran down the flawless walls, and bubbles floated through the air, the lights refracting off their delicate surfaces. A thin stream of blood was trickling down the drain; the product of a dull razor in IA's shaking hands. Her distracted fingers had raked the blade across her knee, a ribbon of skin falling to the bathtub floor. Eyes wide, face blank, she had watched as the blood flowed down her leg, turning pink as the water rushed over the cut.

Now she stared at the red droplets that sat atop the silver drain. It was hot, her bare body was cold, and time was still creeping by. IA had been sitting in the bathtub for over an hour. She alternated between staring up at the ceiling in total silence and leaning over the toilet, gagging herself. Now she was sitting motionless against the tile. She sighed and looked down at her body, pale, glistening, and thin.

"But not thin enough," she muttered. Tears slid down her face, but she didn't make a sound. "Len…" she whimpered, "tell me I'm beautiful, please. I want to feel, I want to live…take my hand, please." Heart hammering inside her fragile chest, she reached towards the empty air around her.

Was she delusional, did she really see Len's beautiful face? Or was it the nerves, the thought of the approaching performance? Or maybe he really was there, coming out of the mist like a mirage. Blue eyes, golden hair, a forgiving smile etched on his face.

"Forgive me, forgive me," IA said, leaning forward. "Forgive me, love me, plea—aaah!"

Kneeling down, her legs suddenly slipped and she tumbled forward, knocking her head against the faucet. She lay on the ceramic floor, blood trickling down her face. It was a shallow cut, not a life-threatening wound, but for half a second, she almost wished it was.

_Her sister's face, the black hair and dull eyes, and the whispered words: "Running away from this world…yeah, that sounds like a good ending, doesn't it, sis?"_

"No, never!" And then her eyes popped open, the haze of insanity finally clearing. IA's chest was heaving, her back arching as she struggled for air. For what seemed like an eternity, she lay in the bathtub, gasping and crying. But she never made a sound when she cried. They were silent tears of sorrow, embarrassment, and the tiniest bit of hope. Hope because she was alive, and she knew she would never again wish for the opposite.

After another hour, she got out of the bathtub, wrapped herself in a towel, and looked into the foggy mirror. Staring at her dripping image, she gathered her thoughts and fell into that familiar mindset.

"I know exactly what I want and who I want to be," she said to her reflection. "Don't need love, don't need friends, I'm only after success." Soft, pink lips were pressed against the glass. "Pull yourself together, IA. Be a star, be perfection." Her stomach clenched as the word 'perfection' slipped through her teeth. She braced her arms against the sink, her entire body shivering. "Sorry, Yuuma, but I have to say it. It's all I have right now."

_Her mother's sunken eyes, wrinkled hands and emotionless smile. A beeping monitor, a plastic bag, a memory from long ago. Black shadow of the hand against the white sheets, and a voice, "Perfection, my daughter. Strive for it; it is the most important thing you will ever gain."_

All at once, Yuuma's teachings vanished from IA's brain. She saw herself in the mirror and knew what she wanted. Slowly, she raised her finger to the glass and began to write out her desires.

_I want the world to love me, I want to be better than Luka, I want to be loved and desired, I want to be successful, I want Len, maybe even Yuuma too, I want someone to be proud of me, I want to get better, and I want to be skinny…why can't I get any skinnier?_

The pale hand clenched into a fist, the question mark fading as the fog cleared. But the question was still there, lingering inside her tired mind. For some reason, she couldn't lose weight. Days without eating were not paying off; she just felt weak and dizzy. Whatever it was inhibiting her, she would put an end to it. Of course she would, she was logical and would discover the answer to this realistic problem. After all, the name of her new song was a testament to herself, A Realistic Logical Ideologist.

Yes, she was logical, she would figure it out.

* * *

Even though Yuuma had a million other things to do, he decided to seek out Len. The phone calls and uptight business people could wait. It was a long walk down the clean, carpeted hallway. Plates of half eaten food and empty wine glasses were outside almost every room, sitting atop shining metal trays. Room service, the backup dancers were certainly taking advantage of their free time.

Yuuma nudged one of the lids with his foot, uncovering a bowl that had once contained caviar. He could see a few of the pearl-like eggs still stuck to the brim. "Glad to see they're enjoying themselves," he said sarcastically. "There's so many of them, he could be anywhere."

He stopped in front of a door, similar to all the others, and knocked twice. A few seconds later, the door was opened by a girl with brown pigtails. She smiled at Yuuma and leaned casually against the wall. "Hello, come to party with the extras, Mr. Yuuma?" she asked playfully.

"That's cute, but no," he replied with a subtle laugh. "I'm looking for Len, actually. Is this his hotel room?"

The girl's face suddenly fell. "Len…isn't here."

"Oh, ok. So could you tell me where his room is?"

"No, you don't get it," she said, her eyes cast down. "He isn't here at all. After you left with IA, he got kicked off the bus."

"What?" Yuuma said, trying to remain calm. "When did this happen?"

"When we were on the tour bus. So last week, I guess."

"How…when…" Yuuma mumbled to himself. He ran his hands through his hair and angrily pulled at his tie. "This can't be happening!" Abruptly, he turned to the girl, his eyes flaming. "Give me his number, you have that, right?"

"S-sure I do," she squeaked. With fumbling fingers, she took out her cellphone. "Here it is."

"Thanks," he said as he copied it into his phone. "Uh, good luck tonight."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." With a quick nod, he turned on his heel and headed down the hall, tapping the phone pensively against his chin, praying that IA would not find out about Len until tomorrow.


	10. Falling Apart

Somebody was banging their fist on the door; IA could hear their persistent knocks. Every sound was amplified inside her mind, her pounding headache getting progressively worse. It had come on suddenly, just as she was leaving the bathroom. The towel had slipped out of her fingers, her head throbbing, a wave of nausea rushing over her, and she had fallen to the floor. Lying naked on the polished wood, she had gasped for breath, the world spinning around her. Feverishly, she had crawled to the couch, grabbed her phone off the coffee table, and texted Yuuma.

_I hope he brings what I asked, _she thought. She pressed her cheek against the leather and pulled a pillow over her head, trying to drown out the noise. The knocks continued, her head ached, her stomach turned. There was so little inside her, just tea and diet pills that did nothing but twist her insides. She curled up into a ball, her bare body shivering.

The knocking didn't stop.

"Go away, Yuuma!" she yelled. "Just slip it under the door and leave me alone!"

"No, IA, I need to know what's going on," Yuuma said calmly. "You can't ask me to bring you a preg—"

"Don't say it out there!" She leapt to her feet, the bout of urgency bringing strength to her body. It didn't last long though, the sudden movement revitalizing her dizziness. Cold hands grasped her head, and she took a deep breath. "F-fine, just come in, use your spare key. The least you could is hold my hair." Quickly, she grabbed the towel off the floor and wrapped it around her body. Some vice, probably vanity, compelled her to flatten her hair and try to make herself presentable.

Behind her, the door clicked open and Yuuma walked inside. Soft footsteps, suede shoes, the rustle of a gray sweater in the endless flow of the A/C. He stopped and stared at IA, at a lonely, lost little girl with water dripping down her face. She became a child, wide-eyed and scared. Vulnerability covered her; goose bumps dotted her pale skin.

"IA," Yuuma said, "What's going on?"

"Nothing, I just need to figure something out." She swallowed and looked askance at the bag Yuuma had set on the floor. A convenient store bag, so thin that one could easily see inside; it made IA cringe.

"What happened to your leg?" Yuuma asked, his eyes falling on her blood-drenched knee. "And your forehead? Did someone do this to you, did you fall?"

"Relax, I just cut myself shaving," she snapped. "Those kinds of cuts bleed a lot. And the one on my forehead, it's nothing. It's near my hairline, almost invisible." She swallowed again and looked down at the floor. "Didn't you hear what I said? I need you to hold my hair."

Yuuma raised his eyebrows. "Huh?" Then he saw her shift uncomfortably, her hand coming to her stomach. "Oh. Sure, I'll hold your hair."

And that's exactly what he did; hold her beautiful locks as she leaned over the toilet. Thirty minutes passed. IA laid her cheek on the porcelain seat, sweaty and tired, her chest heaving. It was silent; the only sound her ragged breathing.

Len's song came back to her, "_I gave vent to loneliness into a toilet bowl…I'm shivering and waiting for you."_

"No…y-you're not." Her back arched and the butterflies returned. "Quick, Yuuma, hold my hair back. Hold it!"

"I am! Don't worry, I've got it." He watched as she gripped the edge of the toilet and her face disappeared into the bowel.

Slowly, without her noticing, he kneeled behind her and pressed his face into her hair. Hands on her shoulders, golden eyes half-open in the muted light. "You'll be ok," he whispered. "I promise."

She said nothing, but Yuuma swore he felt her head nod.

* * *

Another half hour, and IA was standing in front of the sink, brushing her teeth. She felt better, though the question still lingered. The answer was there, inside a cardboard box, but she was too afraid to look.

"Is it something you ate?" Yuuma asked. He was sitting on the couch, the plastic bag beside him.

"No, it wasn't something I ate," IA spat, throwing the toothbrush into the sink. "Something I ate…please. I haven't had anything in days."

Yuuma laughed emotionlessly, running his hands through his hair. "So you're anorexic and bulimic now?"

"Just throw me the test."

"Fine." He tossed the bag towards her outstretched hand.

Cold, calculating fingers grabbed the plastic. Her blue eyes rolled and she shut the door.

Yuuma waited, his feet propped up on the coffee table, his head back. Strands of pink hair fell against the brown leather. He waited and waited, the sunbeams peeking through the massive windows. Long shadows stretched across the floor and hid Yuuma's face. Half in shadow, half in the clutches of daylight. Just as his eyes were beginning to close, the bathroom door opened. IA walked out, her face unreadable.

"So, what's the verdict?" Yuuma asked.

IA was silent. She stood in the darkness, her pale form glowing beneath the towel.

"IA, tell me."

She shook her head, her eyes on the floor. For half a second, she felt sad, embarrassed. Then she blinked and hatred replaced the sadness, her irises quivering and her pupils dilating. Hatred for herself, for Len, for the child growing inside her. She needed to forget this feeling, forget how to feel. If a mere shadow of an emotion was this heavy, than IA would rather be a distant robot controlled by the memories of others. In a separate dream, in another life, she would have never dared to think this, but now, but now she was lost. Mindlessly moving through a never-ending maze of nothingness and tiresome cycles of humanoid understanding. She ran her fingers through her hair, feeling the distinct strands and tugging at their roots. A shadow suddenly dropped down over her body and she noticed a hand on her shoulder.

Yuuma was beside her, gently stroking her arm. "Before I say anything else, tell me. Is it Len's?"

She nodded, the tears welling in her eyes. "It couldn't be anyone else's. He's the only one."

"Well, it explains why you're sick all the time," Yuuma said with a faint laugh. IA said nothing, the tears sliding down her face. "But listen, IA, you can't keep living like this. You have to eat and sleep, you have to take care of yourself. You'll need vitamins, and—"

"Just stop," IA growled, trying to wipe the tears away. "I don't want to think about it. I don't like it, I don't want it!"

Yuuma's eyes widened. "So you're going to give up the baby?"

She punched him in the shoulder. "No! This is my fault, I know that. I have to give it a chance….but still, it isn't fair!" Her composure crumbled, her mask shattering like a diamond. Standing in the middle of the room, she broke down and cried.

"It'll be ok, I'm here," Yuuma said, pulling her into his arms. "I'll always be here, even if I have to stick around for five, ten, fifteen years. I won't give up on you, IA, I promise."

"Promises mean nothing," IA muttered. "But I trust you…even if I don't listen to you half the time." She buried her head in the folds of his sweater, breathing deeply.

_Smells like ink and tsubaki flowers_, she thought. _So soothing…so…_

"Ok, that's enough," she said, backing away from Yuuma. "I just…I have to get ready, you know, for the performance."

"Of course. I'll let you get dressed." His face turned red. "After all, you're in a towel, so yeah, get dressed."

"Will do." She headed towards her bedroom, avoiding Yuuma's gaze. "Oh yeah, you can't tell anyone, not even Len," she added. "I can hide it from him, from everyone."

Yuuma smiled. "Why don't we worry about that when the time comes? You just focus on the concert tonight."

"What about my 'other Len'?" she asked, tapping the doorframe with her fingernails.

"Seriously, IA? You're pregnant and that's what you're thinking about?"

"I'm still lonely." Her blue eyes became wide and glassy. "And I can't focus on the concert, it makes me nervous. If I fail, I'll fall apart…so I need someone, anyone."

"A friend, maybe?"

IA glared at him for a moment, then retreated into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Guess not," Yuuma said, raising his eyebrows. IA, the client he could always count on to misbehave, the girl who would do anything for the crown of perfection. He sighed and left the hotel room, his cell phone in hand. Calling Len was his first priority.

_Who knows, _he thought, _afterwards I might just write another poem for my troubled pop star._

* * *

IA knew she had a big ego, but she didn't understand why that was such a big deal. The mirror reflected her fake self, the manufactured star that was the hero inside of everyone. She stared at her perfect twin, her own self-fulfilled prophecy. Sure, in reality her life was a mess, but she still looked pretty and the world would never know the truth. Deep down, she knew why she walked and talked like a machine, why she was a desperate coward so scared to be alone, but she never thought about that. Instead, she filled her mind with fantasies, living life as if she were in a dream.

Her dream had been shattered though. The child inside her had poked a hole through her bubble of perfection. Almost as if it took pleasure in destroying her made-up world of stardom and adoration.

"Wonder what my mother would say," she said to the mirror. "She'd be so embarrassed. All though, it's not like she isn't already embarrassed of me."

She burst out laughing, running her hands down the free-standing mirror. It moved beneath her and spun in a complete circle. Up on tiptoe, she pressed her body against the glass, blue eyes peering down at her reflection. A gorgeous woman stared back, dressed in her signature outfit, the thin black stocking covering her cut knee. "I will be wonderful tonight," she whispered. "The audience will be awestruck, so awe…" Her voice faded as she caught sight of the small cut just below her hairline. It had seemed so tiny and insignificant before, but now it made her cringe.

Realistically speaking, it was nothing. According to IA, it was catastrophic. Hyperventilation seized her starved body, chest heaving, heart pounding, every nerve itching as her mouth longed to scream. An extreme heaviness settled in her stomach, making her knees weak. She sunk to the floor and wrapped her arms around her abdomen, breathing hard. Was it there now, inside her? Growing like a virus that was destined to make her fat and imperfect? She felt it there, an inescapable weight, a constant reminder of her weakness.

Her world was crumbling, her head was throbbing, everything was falling apart. Pale face, red cut growing brighter and brighter, tiny waist, her midriff expanding before her very eyes.

Hallucinations plagued her mind, yellow butterflies drifting by, powder left behind on her hand.

"Miss IA!"

A sharp voice severed her train of thought. She flinched, her eyes refocusing in the darkness.

The voice came again, followed by a distant knock. "Miss IA! You're needed in hair and makeup!"

_Must be one of the makeup artists. _"Ok, I'll be out soon!" she called back.

It took a few seconds, but she was finally able to compose herself, slowly crafting her special mask with trembling fingers. Without a second glance in the mirror, she stood up and walked out the door. All of her problems were left in that hotel room, locked inside a secret place that she hoped no one else would find.


	11. An Overnight Story

Len was getting really sick of random hallucinations. Every day something reminded his brain of something else, but they were not lovely little flashbacks played out like a film, they were terrifying collaborations of a hundred different emotions and memories. And always there was some phantom that stepped over the boundary between fantasy and reality and whispered horrible things into Len's ear. Somehow, that phantom always looked like IA and she always brought some new kind of terror with her. Without warning, IA might turn into the blonde-haired prostitute, or maybe he would look in the mirror one day and see IA standing beside him.

_Here she is again, _he thought, rolling his eyes.

He was lying on a white couch, his face pressed against the slick material. It was cold to touch, but he welcomed the chill. His sister's apartment had absolutely no air conditioning. Sleeping on the tattered couch was uncomfortable enough without the layer of sweat that covered his body each night. Wearing a pair of boxers with bananas printed on them, a Christmas gift from his sarcastically playful sister, his bare chest would stick to the vinyl. Blue eyes glowing in the darkness, he would peel himself off the sofa and roll over, only to find the hard tile floor beneath him. What did he expect, for IA to be beside him? For her to stop his fall with her flawless hands? No, those porcelain hands were broken, and their love was trapped in a frozen time.

_Stop thinking about her, you idiot! _He punched one of the decorative pillows and flung it across the room. It hit the adjacent wall and fell atop the small, black television. Square, old and ugly, the television set was a vacant eye that glared at Len.

It observed him in a clinical fashion, penetrating his mind and seeing his secret thoughts. IA's body intertwined with his, her locks of pink-tinged hair mingling with his blonde bangs, candy coated lips whispering in his ear, "Sometimes I ignore you so I feel in control, because I really adore you and can't leave you alone", fingers running down his spine…

"Enough!" he roared. His hand acted of its own accord, throwing some unknown object at the blank screen. It only took a few seconds for Len to realize that he had chucked the remote, as the glass shattered and shards flew into the air.

He sighed and looked at the broken TV, the thrown pillow, the pieces of glass strewn across the tile. "Crap."

"What was that?" A voice suddenly came from behind the wall. Opposite the living room, where Len now stood, was Rin Kagamine's bedroom. She had been asleep, snuggled up to her boyfriend, Gumiya, his arms wrapped around her small body. Then the TV had fractured into a thousand pieces, and her eyes popped open. Now she called out again, "Len, what was that? You ok?"

"I'm fine. Really, everything's fine. Go back to sleep."

"I'm not an idiot, Lenny!" Rin said indignantly. Len could hear the bed creak as she stood up, the sound of her pattering footsteps on the floor. "I'm coming out!"

The bedroom door opened and there she was, Len's twin sister. Her short blonde hair was messy, her sleepy blue eyes partially opened.

"Did you fall or something?" she asked, absentmindedly pulling at the drawstrings on her pajama pants.

"No, I threw something," he said simply.

"Len," she groaned. "Seriously?"

"Look, I'm sorry! I was half-awake when I did it, I didn't know what I was doing." He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "I'm really sorry."

Rin smiled softly. "Bro, it's ok. No need to get so serious. As long as you didn't bre—" She stopped short as her eyes fell on the TV. "What is this?" she squeaked. "Come on, Len, you really had to break our brand new TV?"

"I told you, it was an acci—"

"How is impaling my television with a remote an 'accident'?"

"Rin, I'll pay for it, I prom—"

"You're crazy, Lenny!" She threw her hands up in the air, flinging the drawstrings up in the process. "You've only been here a few days and all you've done is mope, and now you broke our TV. I should just…" Her voice faded, her hands falling back to her side.

"You want me to leave, don't you," Len said.

"No, I can't…" She snapped her spaghetti straps and did a stupid little spin, like a kid trying to avert a question. "Look, you're my brother and you're staying here, ok? You have no place else to go."

"You didn't have to remind me of that," Len said, laughing cynically.

"I wish you would just tell me what happened," Rin sighed, sitting on top of the shattered TV. "One second you're on the road, dancing for one of the biggest stars in the world, and then you show up on my doorstep like a lost cat."

"Yep, that's me. A stupid cat that has to come back to his sister with his tail between his legs. Now will you just drop it and go back to bed."

"Len…"

"There's nothing to tell, just go to sleep!" he snapped. "Good night!"

Len threw himself down on the couch, his back towards his sister. He knew he was being immature, but he didn't care. After wasting so much time with IA, he deserved to act like a child. Except his mind was no longer innocent, and he was no longer a naïve boy with dreams of becoming a professional dancer. Dreams were used and wasted, his reputation was ruined, and IA was gone.

He must have fallen asleep the moment he closed his eyes, because he never remembered hearing Rin leave. A dream, more like a memory, crept into his head. The first time he had been called to IA's room...

_A white bed, silk sheets, just another hotel room in the city. The edges of the scene were blurred, as if he was staring into a foggy telescope, but she was perfectly in focus. Her skin looked smooth, black tattoo clearly visible in the moonlight._

_"__Would you like to see my other one?" she said softly._

_"__Miss IA, I-I don't think this is appropriate," he replied, feeling his face grow hot._

_"__Why do you think I called you here? To praise you for being such a great back-up dancer?" She laughed without emotion and walked towards Len. "Please, don't be so naïve. I've seen you, and I like you, Len Kagamine. We all have our obsessions, and you just happen to be mine."_

_"__I'm flattered; really I am, but I—"_

_"__Are you single?" she asked, slowly undoing his tie._

_"__Yes, I am, but I can't stay, Miss IA. This isn't…" He gasped as she pressed her lips against his. He smelled her perfume, blackberry, iris, and amber. Dazzling and rich, her scent was injected into his veins, already poisoning his blood. Pulling away, he pushed her back, breathing hard. "This isn't right. Don't do this, Miss IA."_

_She stared at him, blue eyes wide and empty, and then she burst into tears._

_Len didn't know what to do. He stood in the middle of the room, watching as IA cried. Tears slid down her cheeks, her shoulders shook with hysteria. In Len's eyes, she suddenly became a real person. Not a pop star, not his boss, not some cold-hearted celebrity with a frigid reputation. She was a human, he was a human, and his humanity overthrew his poor soul._

_"__I'll stay," he muttered. "But not just for you, I have obsessions, too. I want to dance; I want to keep this job…"_

_"__And you will," IA said, not bothering to wipe her eyes. "I'll give you so much, anything you want. Money, success, anything. Just be there for me, always."_

_He didn't want to say it, but at that moment his mind was someplace else and his body acted of its own accord. "I promise, Miss IA." He never said those words, somebody else did, a pathetic kid who just wanted to be famous._

_Then she was upon him, kissing his neck, his lips, his face. And when she brought him to the bed he was a lifeless doll. _

_The moon rose higher in the black sky, shafts of light played on the cold, white floor. IA whispered, "Come to me. I'm driven by a greed to succeed." Midnight embraced the city and Len found himself at the edge of the bed, tear stains on the silk sheets._

_"__Quit your crying, I can't sleep!" IA growled sleepily. She rolled over, hitting him in the head with her fist. But when her fingers touched his golden hair, the hand became soft and kind, and she pressed her body against his and started kissing him again._

_Bipolar, unstable, maybe insane? Len didn't know, Len didn't care. She liked him, he liked the idea of fame, so he accepted her weight and let her obsess over her obsession. Obsess over him._

"Len. Hey, man, wake up."

"Huh?" His eyes popped open and he bolted upright, his body drenched in sweat.

Rin's boyfriend, Gumiya, was staring at him. Brown eyes behind black rimmed glasses, green hair brushing his neck, a straw sticking out of his mouth. He had an odd habit of chewing on straws, rolling them across his tongue as if they were cigarettes.

"You still do that?" Len grumbled, falling back against the couch.

"What? You mean the straw thing?" Gumiya asked. "I explained that to you once. It's so I won't start smoking again. Gotta have something in my mouth."

"Whatever. It's still weird."

Gumiya snorted and chucked a pillow at him. "And you still need to wake up. I've got to go to work, so does Rin, and you have to buy us a new TV."

"Really?" Len groaned.

"Well you did tell Rin you'd pay for it," Gumiya said with a shrug.

"Fine."

"Good. I'll see ya around, then. Have a good day, blondie."

Len watched Gumiya as he walked across the small apartment and out the door. Just before he left, he grabbed Rin, who was straightening her hair in the hallway mirror, and gave her amorous kiss. She giggled, almost dropping the straightener as he playfully gnawed at her ear.

Len rolled his eyes. He had no desire to watch his sister make-out with her boyfriend.

"I'll be home late tonight, ok, baby?" Gumiya said. "There's gonna be a concert tonight and they need everyone to stay later."

"Ok," Rin replied, pouting her lip. "Just be careful. Oh, and who's concert is it?"

Gumiya's voice lowered. "Uh, it's IA's."

Len felt his cheeks burn. How could he have forgotten? Tonight was IA's performance, the night she would sing her new song and dance across the stage without him.

Gumiya was a janitor at the 1st Place Arena, the enormous amphitheater where IA would perform. A strange jealously gripped Len's mind, wishing that he could be in Gumiya's place. Lightheadedness filled his brain with open space, conjuring up the smell of blackberries.

"Ok, I think I'll go buy that TV," he said loudly. He stood up and walked quickly out of the living room. "Yeah, uh, see you guys later. Have a good day at work."

He could hear them murmuring in the hallway, and then more giggling as Gumiya undoubtedly gave Rin another kiss.

The only bathroom in the apartment was connected to the master bedroom. Len ran through, catching glimpses of disheveled sheets and his sister's nightgown lying on the floor.

_This is so awkward! She's my sister! And then I have to see this and hear them through the wall every night…_

He shook his head and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. That room felt like sacred territory, a place he wasn't supposed to be. Every day he had to dart through there, jealous because he was all alone, frustrated that his sister was no longer the innocent girl with a bow in her hair. It's not like he hated Gumiya, no, he liked him a lot, it was just…awkward.

"Doesn't matter what I think," Len muttered. He turned the shower on and took off his boxers. There was a radio sitting on the countertop, pretty old and banged up. He shrugged, flipped it on, and climbed into the shower. Bits of sound came in and out, fragmented by static and the water that struck the ceramic. Haku Yowane's voice was clearly audible, singing about how it's good to uninstall.

_Probably the only person in the world who is more self-loathing and depressed than IA, _Len thought sarcastically.

And then the song ended and the radio hosts started talking about "everyone's favorite problem couple, Neru Akita and Dell Honne!" Blah, blah, blah, words and more words about nothing. Dell had just gotten out of rehab; Neru was the new spokeswoman for some cellphone company.

"Nobody cares," Len shouted through the glass. He threw a bar of soap at the door, watching as it bounced off and slid across the tile.

Blue eyes observed the trails of pink soap, water droplets slid down his bangs and into his eyes. "I really need to stop throwing things."

_"__I don't know, I don't know, I don't know anything of the kindness after a scolding, or the warmth of a hand after the rain. But really, truly, honestly, I feel very cold.  
I can't die, why won't I die?  
I can't even see one single dream.  
And this fairy tale no one knows of, is swallowed into the sunset, and disappeared."_

A sweet voice caught his attention. Haunting and beautiful, the voice of an angel out in the open spaces of the universe.

"IA?" Len turned around, peering through the thick steam. But of course, there was no one there. The voice came again, broken up by bouts of static. "Oh, just the radio."

IA's song continued. Len stood motionless in the shower, listening to the sound of water pelting his skin. Mist, hot droplets on his neck, fingers curled against the glass, the mirage of IA slipping into the shower and placing her fingers on his arms. But that was a pretty lie, and the ugly truth was that he was alone.

He was alone in the electronic store, too. People walked by, faces in a crowd, eyes that never recognized him. Len glared at the blank television screens, wishing that one of them would suck him in. They seemed to whisper, imagine saying goodbye to this world and just falling head first into a universe of numb pain. Mind and body vanishing without anger or fear, just benign agony that burrows its head in your chest and cries.

Len rolled his eyes. "Stupid TVs." He hated them, but he bought one anyway. He used his credit card, that cheap piece of plastic that meant nothing but more debt.

Buying the television was the pinnacle achievement of his entire day. Everything went by so slowly, the milky sun slowly sinking in the sky. He was walking back to Rin's apartment, carrying the TV with shaking hands, when his phone rang.

"Really? I'm kinda in the middle of something." He placed the television on the ground and ripped out his cellphone. "What?"

"Where are you?" an unfamiliar voice asked angrily.

"Huh? Who is this?"

"Oh, uh, sorry. It's Yuuma. You know, IA's—"

"IA's agent, yeah, yeah, I know who you are," Len snapped. "What do you want?"

"Well, I just have a few questions, that's all. And then…" He uncomfortably cleared his throat. "Then I have something to tell you."

Len's eyes narrowed. "What is it?" Was Yuuma going to ask him to come back? Was IA lost without him?

"Nothing too big," Yuuma said, his voice cracking. "Just something you would probably like to know. But first I want to know what happened to you. Why were you thrown off the bus?"

"It's none of your business," Len growled. He felt his face grow hot, the blood coming to his eyes. Every emotion suddenly exploded inside him and he started screaming into the phone. "There was a misunderstanding and that…that stupid hoe, Teto, said nothing! It wasn't my fault, I'm not a pervert! It's not fair; I should be back on the crew!"

A few heads turned, people glanced cautiously at Len as they walked by. There was no response from Yuuma. A few seconds passed, then, "Um, ok. Wow, I had no idea Teto Kasane was a stupid hoe. But that's good to know, I guess."

He sighed and ran his hand down his face. "No, wait, I didn't mean to call her that."

"Look, I get it," Yuuma said. His voice became serious and harsh. "I was an angsty college graduate once, too. But let's cut the melodramatic crap, ok? There's something you need to know, and it's way more important than any of this immature drabble."

"All right," Len said slowly, "why don't you tell me?"

He heard Yuuma take a deep breath. "IA is pregnant, Len. She told me it was yours. What do you think?" Silence. "Len?"

Len was a statue in the middle of the sidewalk. Eyes wide and fixed on nothing, his tongue moving uselessly in his mouth. After what felt like six trillion years, he whispered, "Can you just wait a second?" Wordless, thoughtless, his body too rigid to move. He gripped the phone, his knuckles white, and gritted his teeth. Then a scream ripped through his teeth, "Aaaaaargghhh!" And he kicked the television in a fit of anger. He heard the glass break; his knees hit the sidewalk as fresh tears streamed down his face. "No…what have I done to her?" he whimpered. "She can't…I can't…crap…"

He heard Yuuma's voice, calm and controlled. "Len? Hello? Look, we need to talk about this. I'm not judging you, ok? This is about IA, she needs help. She's starving herself, Len. She'll kill herself and the baby if she doesn't stop. Len, are you even listening?"

He shook his head, aware that Yuuma could not see him. "I, I don't even know anymore. Can I just call you back?"

Yuuma laughed cynically. "Oh no, you're not running away from this. I need to talk about this now, ok? You need to man-up and get back over here right—"

Len hung up before Yuuma could finish his sentence. He sat on the sidewalk, dumbstruck and puffy-eyed. The television was still inside its perfect cardboard box, but Len knew it was broken.

* * *

**A/N: Just in case anyone was wondering, the reason why Gumiya's eyes are brown is because I based his appearance off a picture on Zerochan. Just wanted to clarify that if anyone was confused lol. **


	12. Frozen Fire

Voices drifted through the air vent, sliding down the walls like wet paint. IA closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. The noise was deafening, a thousand whispering words that swam inside her, judging her. She clasped her ears with trembling hands and tried to drown out the voices. Fingers wound through strands of hair, dark eyelashes fluttering, goose bumps forming on her skin. The room was so cold, the walls were so white. IA's dressing room reflected her frigid soul. The spotless mirror stared with vacant eyes; the bright lights around her vanity illuminated her pale face. Silence, distance, an empty nervousness and aching hunger that gnawed at her mind.

A half hour before her show, and IA was alone. Typically, she would call Len to her side and let him take away the tension. She would be in her chair, waiting, and then he would walk in, his face blank. They would be quiet, careful not to ruin each other's makeup. But now, she was alone, and her body longed for Len's touch.

"As if he would want me now," she said, glaring at her stomach. In her mind, it was forever expanding, growing heavier with each passing second. Would her fans notice? Would the news anchors call her fat, or realize that she was pregnant?

She pulled at her hair, blue eyes widening. "No, they can't. It's not that obvious, it's not, it's not!" Growling, she swept her arm across the vanity, sending perfume bottles into the air. Glass containers and lipstick tubes fell to the ground, shattering into a dozen pieces. Blackberries, iris, and amber, the smell of the perfume was intoxicating. She took a deep breath, reaching for the broken slivers, when someone knocked at the door.

"IA, it's Yuuma. Can I come in?"

"Whatever," she replied, rolling her eyes.

She heard the door open, and then Yuuma walked in. He was wearing a gray suit jacket, the sleeves rolled up to his elbow, tight black pants, and a sheer scarf that was bunched around his neck. Skin visible beneath a thin, white undershirt, the entire outfit tailored perfectly to his body shape.

IA felt a shiver go down her spine. "You…uh…you look nice."

Yuuma raised his eyebrows. "Thanks, so do you." He cleared his throat and adjusted his scarf. "I see the makeup artists were able to cover that cut on your forehead."

"Oh yeah," she muttered, self-consciously brushing her hair over the scratch. "Can you see it?"

"No, that's why I said something," he explained, laughing softly. "Come on, IA, you look great. Now stop worrying about your looks and listen up. I've got to tell you something."

"What?" She turned in her chair, looking at him with her orb-like eyes.

Yuuma swallowed and pulled on his scarf again. _I can't tell her about Len…not yet, _he thought. _She'll go insane if she finds out he's gone. And she'll kill me if she knew that I told him. But, I can tell her about the other thing, the other very important thing…_

"Look, remember how I told you that I'd find you 'another Len'?" He started, smiling awkwardly.

"Uh, yeah," IA said slowly.

"Well, I have some semi-good news."

"Semi-good? What is that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"Just let me explain, IA. I've found you a new…uh…partner." Yuuma could feel the sweat beading on his forehead, the heat rising in his face as IA glared blankly at him. "Well, I called him the day we arrived at the hotel. He's agreed to be with you, he just wants to open your show from now on."

IA was silent for a few moments, unblinking. "So this guy is basically a high-class prostitute?" she finally said, digging her nails into the back of her chair. "He'll sleep with me if I let him sing at my concerts, is that it?"

"No, no, no" Yuuma said, waving his hands back and forth. "You're thinking about it the wrong way. He's just a guy, a relatively famous guy, who has agreed to a little, um, business deal."

"Business deal?!" IA shrieked, jumping out of her chair. "I am not a robot, Yuuma, I have feelings, ok?" She turned on him, a feral look in her eyes. "People might say I'm like a machine, but I'm not. I have feelings and this isn't what I wanted!"

"Then what did you want?" Yuuma shouted back, his voice cracking. "You said you wanted somebody, you said you were lonely!"

"What did I want? Hmm, what did I want?" she said in a mocking voice. "Well I know what I didn't want, for you to go soliciting for someone to come and help your poor, crazy, whore of a client!"

"I never called you a crazy whore! I was trying to help you!" he exclaimed, pulling at his scarf in frustration.

"Help me? How is this supposed to help me?"

"Because he's a new artist who wants fame and you're a pop star who wants…whatever! You give him exposure and he'll give you…well, you know what I mean!"

IA walked right up to Yuuma, her eyes narrowed. "And what if he tells the media about this 'business deal'?"

"He won't, if he did he'd look like a moron, too!"

"Oh, so now I'm a moron?"

"No! You're not a moron, and you're not crazy!" Yuuma groaned. "Just think about it for a second. It's a perfect plan."

"Perfection is unattainable," IA said quietly.

It was silent in the dressing room. The two of them, agent and client, stood as still as statues, chests heaving, faces red with fury. Golden eyes were fixed upon blue ones, and the A/C was the loudest sound in the room.

"You're right," he muttered. "And I know, it's crazy, but he's desperate for fame. Honestly, he needs you more than you need him. It will work, IA, you'll get what you want."

_I know exactly what I want…_IA thought. _Someone like Len, to make me forget. _She took a deep breath and nodded. "Fine, I accept my end of the deal."

Yuuma heaved a sigh of relief. "Ok, good, that makes things a lot easier." He glanced at his watch. "It's almost time for the show, so I guess I'll leave you alone now. Remember, you're an idol, everyone loves you, and you're going to do an amazing job."

IA watched him walk to the door, a single question burning within her mind. "Who is this guy, exactly?" she blurted out.

"Piko Utatane," Yuuma said without turning around. "You know who he is, right? The up-and-coming singer. He's kind of like you."

"Piko…" IA repeated. She let the name roll over her teeth, tasting each consonant with her tongue. P was fruity and refreshing, I was spicy, K was electric, and O was cold, bitter cold on her taste buds. IA felt a grin of desire twist her face. "Piko Utatane…he's not bad. He kinda looks like a girl though."

"Just like Len," Yuuma said with a hollow laugh. "I think he's just as short as Len too. And he's really skinny, just like Len, looks like the both of them got run over by a roadroller. Anyways, I've got to go. Good luck, pop star."

"Thanks," IA mumbled.

After Yuuma left, the dressing room once again became a frigid box of judgment and anxiety. The mirror stared at her, the lights observed her every move, and the walls listened to her secret thoughts. IA stood in the same spot for what felt like hours, emptying her mind and repeating her mantra over and over again.

Another knock at her door. "Miss IA, it's time!"

"All right, I'm coming." She pushed her hair down, smoothed her clothes, and walked out of the dressing room, her mind focused on success.

* * *

Darkness, as black as the world behind closed eyelids. Fluttering curtains, pinpoints of flashing camera light, thousands of blinking eyes. They waited for their idol, the mysterious IA, pink-tinged hair and glassy blue eyes. It was quiet, nothing but muttering voices in the crowd. A booming voice suddenly announced the opening act, "This year's best break-out artist, Piko Utatane!" The crowd roared as the lights came up.

Hundreds of shocked responses, "Wow, I didn't know Piko would be here!"—"What a perfect pair, Piko and IA!"—"This tour's gonna be awesome! The Ice Queen has found her Prince!"

The spotlight fell on a young man with silvery hair that sparkled like diamonds, one eye was blue, the other was green, and his skin was so white, almost unreal. Black pants that hugged his legs and a futuristic shirt of almost spatial proportions. He twirled a USB cord in one hand, singing effortlessly into the microphone. A voice so youthful and real, more realistic than anything IA had ever heard.

She was standing backstage, leaning against the swaying curtain. She could feel the vibrations through the thick fabric. Every note, every word was injected into her veins, descending into her bone marrow and making her body tremble. Shivers racked her spine, her hands grasping the black curtain. _He sings like an angel, _she thought. _A gorgeous, white-haired angel, so passionate, so cold. _IA listened to the lyrics of his song.

_"__Piko Piko Legend of the night  
I bet the feeling on a false dice  
Getting ZERO  
With the sharpened and reversed knife  
Rip the lies  
The speed of acceleration of the hot and crazy vortex increases  
Now I'll lure you."_

His song was magnetic, pulling IA forward. The gravity enticed her every cell, destiny tugging at her DNA. A little girl melting into the illusions of a looking glass, IA surpassing the nightmares of an unlivable dream. The darkness cultivated a feeling of peace within the deepest parts of her heart. Her feet slid on black ice, the velvet curtain rustled.

_"__The more I break, the more I can't stop the pulse  
Till it goes much deeper  
I can't stop the quick hot boosting beat  
It's a night of miracle that would never come  
I'll lead you now  
Cause you're the one who has the one last missing piece  
Piko Piko Legend of the night  
The fever spreads all over my body!"_

"Piko Utatane…" IA breathed.

"Miss IA, you're about to go on."

"Huh?" She opened her eyes and saw a stagehand standing in front of her.

"It's almost time for you to go on. Are you ready?"

Was she ready? Her hair was done, her makeup was flawless, she had psyched herself up, and she had already puked at least three times. She took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm ready."

* * *

Piko finished his performance, his face stoic as a thousand fans screamed and clapped. Expression like ice, he left the stage. Darkness fell again, and the crowd waited for IA.

Silence, then the sound of her voice split the night. A single note, forever rising and falling, her operatic voice touching the arena's ceiling.

_"__What a wonderful dial.  
It doesn't hurt, I don't feel bad at all, I feel so happy.  
When I turn my dial on my chest,  
nothing hurts or makes me sad."_

Lights flared, voices shrieked, desperate fingers reached for the stage. IA appeared out of the blackness, her eyes glowing. The light, the blinding spotlights seared her corneas and controlled her thoughts, reminding her to stay focused. She was a bird trapped in a cage of intellectual data, a prison of vital information and blistering white light. The dangers of failure wrapped themselves around her body as she fell headfirst into the song, the one called Dialing Paranoia, determination masking her eyes. She noticed the moving crowd beneath her and went to touch it, something she had never done before. Fans screamed, straining to brush her outstretched hand.

IA felt warm fingertips that were stained red from a cherry snow cone. A girl with long red hair, her eyes wide with disbelief as her idol grabbed her hand, a fan that looked like she was about to cry. IA felt a small spark inside her -happiness, maybe? - as she looked at the smiling fan, someone who truly respected her, and thought she was perfect.

_Why don't I ever reach out to my fans? _she thought. _I should…because this feels wonderful. Being loved, idolized, it's all so amazing…I'm awestruck. _

The verse ended and she broke away, her fingers now stained red.

The concert continued. Allegro, allegro. Faster and faster it spun. Songs flashed by. Children Record, Perfect Crime Love Letter, IA IA Night of Desire, A Tale of Six Trillion Years and One Night, Headphone Actor, Ref-Rain…they all rushed by like a speeding train. Sweat glistened, chests heaved, muscles rippled as the dancers danced. For a split second, IA wondered why Len wasn't there, but that thought quickly fled her mind.

The time came for her new song, A Realistic Logical Ideologist, and she could feel her heart pounding. Opening instrumental, drum beat, and then she started singing. The lyrics flowed so easily, slipping through her teeth and falling upon her audience's ears. She sang about the idiotic-looking person in the mirror and about lonely logic, being obedient and jealousy in an undermined heart.

_"__Yes, even I am always trying my best. So, shut up, mind your own business!"_

Passionate tears pricked at her eyelashes, the heat rising in her face. IA felt ready to explode, to scream out, all of her emotions roiling inside her. Dancers grabbing at her arms, sweat dampening her skin, she felt sick and desirous and knew that she would run to Piko after the concert.

The song ended and the crowd erupted. IA had never heard such applause at one of her performances. Inside, her heart was hammering, but on the outside she appeared poised and perfectly calm. She saw nothing but lights and humanoid silhouettes against the darkness. Minutes passed and she stood with her dancers, frozen in their last position as the crowd continued to roar.

One word flashed across IA's vision, success. The concert was a success, and the people loved her. Still, her brain was already analyzing the entire performance. Doubt and speculation crept into her mind and her breathing quickened.

The dancer to her left, Teto Kasane, heard her gasp for air. Teto glanced up at IA, wondering what Len had ever seen in the wide-eyed pop star, thinking of the night that she had seen them together, kissing in IA's dressing room as she had opened the door to give IA her tea, quickly closing it before either of them had seen her there…

"Get up, Teto."

Another backup dancer was ushering her offstage. The lights were gone and the crowd had finished cheering. Teto could hear them chattering as they exited the arena. She nodded. "Oh, ok. Sorry." As she went behind the curtain, she turned to look at IA once more, but she was gone.

* * *

The second IA had stopped singing, the sickness had taken her. Nausea, dizziness, the feeling that her stomach was full of blood, guts, and angel cake. Once the lights fell, she slipped behind the curtain and ran to the bathroom, only to find it locked. Backstage, there was only one bathroom, a single unisex room that hardly anyone used.

_Of course when I need it, there's somebody in there!_

"C-can you hurry up!" she choked, banging on the door. No answer. "Come on, you idiot, open the door!"

IA groaned and leaned the door. Taking deep breaths, she willed herself not to puke all over the floor. But it was more difficult than usual, trying to suppress the aching, the writhing, the cramping, the wretched baby that twisted her insides.

"Open the door!" she yelled, throwing her entire body at the door. "Do you know who I am!?"

"IA…Aria of the Planetes." The words were spoken dreamily. An unfamiliar voice, pensive and faraway, every word slowly melting like ice.

IA gasped. "The angel…" She pressed her lips against the door. "You're Piko…I recognize your voice. What are you doing in there?"

"Same reason you're trying to get in, I guess," he said coolly. "Like you, sometimes I get sick after I sing. Nervousness…or whatever."

IA nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see her. Her mind was wandering, her eyes wide and glassy. "Yuuma was right, we are similar," she muttered, running her tongue over her teeth.

"What?"

"Nothing," she snapped, realizing where she was. "Look, I really need to get in there. So get out right now or I'll—"

"You'll what, break our agreement?" Piko said. "Your agent already told me that you agreed to your end of the deal. Is that right?"

"Well you opened my show, didn't you?" IA said, hitting the door. "Now get out!"

"As you wish."

IA almost lost her balance as the door was suddenly flung open. Piko walked out, a toothbrush and mini toothpaste in his hand. He stared at her with half-closed eyes, his face expressionless. There was no formal introduction, no attempt at small talk, he just continued to stare at her, and she stared right back.

"You let me open your show," Piko said, breaking the frigid silence, "and you have agreed to let me open all of your shows on this tour. So, since you held up your end of the deal, I'll hold up mine. Where's your room?"

IA was taken aback by his blatancy. "Oh, uh, it's the penthouse, so you'll have to go up with me after the party."

"Right the after party," Piko mused. "I have to get changed for that, so I guess I'll just meet you at the party, then?"

She swallowed. "I-I guess so…"

_Get yourself together, IA, _she thought, shaking her head. _Why is he making you so nervous? It's his eyes, isn't it? The way he's glaring at you. And he's so emotionless, like a robot! Is this how people see me?_

"Or maybe I could just bring my clothes up your room and get changed there," Piko said abruptly. "It's more convenient. I mean, I have to shower and so do you, so if we just used the same shower it'd save time and water."

IA felt her stomach flip. "Huh?"

Piko shrugged. "Just a suggestion. And besides, I am all for saving the planet."

She was speechless, her mouth ajar as she attempted to process his words. How could he be so casual? His face was completely blank; his voice sounded sleepy and bored. Yuuma had said that he was desperate for fame, so desperate that he would do anything and pretend like he didn't care. So was it all a ploy? A way for him to please his new idol, the woman that would help him rise to stardom? He wanted to make IA happy in exchange for what he wanted. He was just like Len, a college-aged kid with a determined mind, his multicolored eyes focused on success.

_You're using each other…_ IA told herself. _We're equals, this is NOT like Len and I. This is ok, I'm not being cruel. And he just wants to be famous, I can relate…_

"Fine," she said, grabbing his hand. "But don't bother to go get your clothes. I have some in my room…uh, they belong to a, um, friend, but he doesn't need them anymore." She thought of the hidden spare of clothes that she always kept in her hotel room, a nice outfit for Len in case he stopped by and needed something to wear the following day. But Len was never going to sneak into her room again, and she couldn't just throw them away.

"Come on." She pulled on Piko's arm.

"Hold on," he said, pointing towards the bathroom. "Didn't you need to go in there?"

IA paused. Her stomach was still turning; the baby like a stone in her abdomen, but the nausea was gone. Desire and a strange sense of fear had taken her sickness away for the moment.

_You'll regret this, _a small voice said. _You'll just end up puking in the shower…_

"I'm fine," IA said loudly. "I feel great, just great. Now come on, Piko, I need you."


	13. Channel Flipping

The day after IA's concert, the sun rose blood-red. It climbed the steps of a grey, clouded sky, rising over a relatively unchanged city. The previous night was a memory, a mess of confetti, spilled champagne, and echoing screams. Jumping from house to house, apartment to apartment, peering through every window and seeing a thousand different scenes, it would be like watching cable TV. Young, naïve fans marveled at their posters and signed souvenirs, girls woke up next to strangers, and janitors were busy cleaning up the mess at the arena.

Gumiya, in his green, faded uniform, had been assigned to bathroom duty. It was tedious work, his arm moving rhythmically up and down as he scrubbed the toilets with a brush. Dark circles ringed his eyes and his head nodded every few seconds. The other janitors had laughed when the boss had handed him a mop and toilet brush. It wasn't a surprise; Gumiya was always given the least desirable tasks.

_They're just a bunch of wusses, _he thought. _And that one guy, what's-his-name, he complains about everything…can't even clean a urinal with squealing like a girl, what a moron._

Gumiya shook his head and went back to scrubbing. Headphones in his ears, he continued his work, a serious expression on his face. The sweet voice of Oliver, a child-star from Britain, resounded in his ears. It was a guilty pleasure, one that caused him to hide Oliver's latest album on top of the kitchen cabinets. Rin was too short to reach beyond the second shelf, so his secret was safe. There was just something about that kid's voice, the amount of talented that existed within such a tiny body. Of course, Gumiya would never tell anyone that. He was Rin Kagamine's tall, stoic boyfriend who was good with a wrench, not some Oliver fanboy.

But still, in the privacy of the women's restroom, he allowed himself to listen to the choir boy's beautiful rendition of the song, Raindrops. Focusing on the notes and haunting lyrics, his shift went by rather quickly, and he didn't even mind cleaning up the puddles of vomit and scattered glitter.

* * *

There was glitter scattered all over Miki's floor. Gold and silver flakes sat atop the checkered tile, buried themselves in the pink, long-haired rug. Jars of paste were sitting on a desk, along with a stack of construction paper. This was not the aftermath of a wild and feverish night, it was the cramped, messy dorm room of an arts-and-crafts lover with fingers stained red.

Miki was half asleep, her scarlet fingers dangling over the side of the mattress. She rolled over, yawning and pulling the sheets over her head. The limited edition poster of IA was taped clumsily to her wall, along with a dozen other pictures and scribbled lyrics written on brightly colored paper.

A black cat hopped up onto her bed, running its tail along the wall as it padded across the comforter. It sat directly in front of Miki's face and stared at her with wide, orb-like eyes.

"Meow."

Miki rolled over again, muttering some unintelligible sentence.

"Meow."

"Cherry…" she groaned. "Cherry, I'm sleeping. Go play, or something."

Cherry cocked her head and meowed again.

A few moments of silence passed, then a voice came from behind the closed bedroom door. "I swear I just heard a cat! You heard it, right? You, too?"

A few other voices murmured in agreement.

"I knew it!" The voice shrieked. "Miki, did you bring that stupid cat home!? If you did, I'm getting the RA!"

Miki's eyes popped open. She jolted into an upright position, strands of red hair flying every which way. "No, no I didn't bring a cat home!" she yelled back, laughing loudly. "I mean, I know how you hate cats, Akaiko, and besides, it's against the rules and I could be kicked out and—"

The door suddenly burst open. Miki jumped, hitting her back against a picture of IA. It was the advertisement for the new perfume, Identity Angel. IA's vacant eyes looked up at the ceiling as the ad fell off the wall and onto the bed sheets.

"Great, I'll have to tape it up again," Miki muttered. "Maybe I should use duct tape, or maybe even staple it? That would—"

"Are you listening to me?" Akaiko's booming voice shattered her train of thought.

"Uh, kinda," she replied with a faint laugh. "It's hard not to hear you, you're so loud, haha. So, what were you saying?"

Akaiko rolled her eyes. "I said, where is it?"

Miki cocked her head. "Where's what?"

"The cat! I know it's in here!"

"There isn't any cat in here." She flashed a playful smile. "I mean, this is my room, so I think I would have noticed a cat."

"I. Know. It's. Here," Akaiko growled, breathing heavily. "And I'll find it. And once I do, you'll get kicked out of the dorms, just you watch!"

Miki shrugged. "Whatever. I don't really care much for college anyways. I'd rather go to an art school, but that isn't practical, you know?" She didn't notice as Akaiko started scouring her room, flipping over cushions and going through her closet. She just kept talking, smiling inwardly because she knew Cherry would not be found. "And I want to start my own business, maybe do arts-and-crafts workshops. So, yeah, college really isn't my thing, so if I get thrown out, oh well. I don't care for college and I don't care much for you either."

"Huh?" Akaiko stopped pulling clothes out of Miki's hamper and turned to look at her. "You say something?"

"Nope, carry on." She let Akaiko examine every last inch of her tiny bedroom, her smile getting wider as Akaiko's face reddened. The two other girls who lived in the apartment walked by, peering anxiously into Miki's room.

"You find it?" One of the girls asked.

"No, it's like it vanished!" Akaiko cried. She slammed the closet doors and sighed. "This was our only chance to get her kicked out of the dorm, and now it's ruined."

The three girls huddled together and started talking, pitching ideas about where the cat was hidden. Miki sat on her bed, rearranging her stuffed animals and rolling her eyes.

_They always talk about me like I'm not there. I wanna be like, hello, I'm sitting right in front of you! _

She looked down at the Identity Angel ad, at IA's soft features and wide eyes. They looked so inviting, a sense of understanding radiating from those black pupils. _I bet you would notice me, _she thought. _You're an artist, just like I am. You'd understand, IA._

Looking up from the picture, Miki saw her roommates, their eyes fixed on her floor. "It could be hiding under her bed, or," their gaze shifted to the ceiling, "in one of the ceiling tiles?"

"Or maybe I ate it," Miki suddenly said. "I bet cats taste great with cherry glaze. And I'm sure some fast food chains already uses cat for their meat." She smacked her lips. "Yum, five cats for five dollars at Arby's!"

"Ew, you're gross!" One of the girls squealed.

"Yeah, and weird, too. She's completely obsessed with that IA chick, what a creeper." Akaiko added. "Let's just forget it, guys. We'll find another way to get rid of her. Who knows, maybe she'll get her head stuck in a paint can and save us the trouble." She smirked and ripped one of Miki's poster's down the middle. "Oh, oops." Laughing, she crumpled it in her fist and let it fall to the floor. "See ya, loser."

Miki said nothing as they left, slamming the door behind them. She sat motionless in her bed, wearing nothing but an oversized T-shirt and a pair of red, fuzzy socks. She blinked once, then again, trying to hold back the tears.

_So much for college students being more mature. They act like they're still in high school. Look at IA's face…there's only half left._

The poster had been one of her favorites, a close up of the pop star, her pink-tinged locks forever brushing her forehead. But only half remained, the poster was completely destroyed.

Wiping her eyes, Miki pulled back her blinds, revealing a partially opened window. "Ok, Cherry, you can come back inside."

"Meow." The black cat slid beneath the glass, and jumped back onto her bed. Luckily, her dorm room was located on the first floor, so her windows were unlocked.

"Don't worry, Cherry. They'll never find you." She placed the cat in her lap and stroked its soft fur. "You know, I'm really happy I brought you…well, I can't really call it home…but anyways, I'm glad you're here. You just looked so sad and lonely out in the rain, kind of how IA looks in her photos sometimes."

A smile tugged at her lips as Cherry began to purr. "You know what else, kitty? IA's concert was really fun, even if I did go alone. I got a lot of posters and I had this cherry snow cone which was delicious and then IA grabbed my hand! She's never done that to anyone before! I will never wash this hand again, I mean it!"

Cherry's range of responses was quite limited. She just continued to stare at her owner, purring and licking her paws with her rough, pink tongue.

"Too bad you can't talk back," Miki groaned, letting her body slide down the wall. "But it's no matter, I have an idea, anyways. We should go to IA's hotel, yes I know where she's staying, and wait for her. Maybe she'll come out and I can get her autograph!" She lifted Cherry into the air and fell back onto her mattress. "Yes, that's what we'll do! Let's go!"

_This is a great idea, _Miki thought as she laced up her boots. _Let's face it, I could use a friend other than a cat, and IA needs fan support! She's always stressed out, and online it says that she's been getting really sick, lately. I hope she's ok…cause, if she died or something, I'd be really lonely. And maybe she's lonely, too…_

* * *

"And I'm lonely, too!"

"But, Tiffany, that doesn't give you the right to cheat on me!"

"Yes it does, Sal, it really does!"

"Wow, that shows sounds like it sucks," Len grumbled. He raised his voice. "Hey, Rin, turn that crap off!"

"No!" his sister screamed back. "This show is hilarious and I've already missed two episodes! Besides, you broke our first TV, so now you're just gonna have to suffer!"

"Fine, at least turn it down!" He rolled his eyes. "She's such a pain. Whatever, I can't lose focus."

He was in the bathroom, the sink covered with streaks of black hair dye. Earlier that morning, he had woken up from a restless night on the couch, his body drenched in sweat. Black television against a white wall, the blurry image revealing the top entertainment news.

"Neru Akita and Dell Honne have split for the sixth time…In a surprise twist, Haku's new song just hit number one on the charts…and the Ice Queen seems to have found herself a Prince. IA was spotted leaving her own after party with Piko Utatane. Partygoers say that they were really getting low on the dance floor. It looks like things are heating up between these two, we will keep our eye on—"

"Utatane?!" Len had shrieked. It had taken every ounce of self-control to stop himself from throwing the remote. "Piko Utatane, is this some kind of joke? He looks like a girl!"

"So do you, Lenny," Rin had piped up. She had been in the kitchen, washing dishes while simultaneously watching TV.

"Oh shut up and get back to your dishes," Len had muttered.

Then Rin had started screaming and two of them engaged in a shouting match. Throwing his hands up in frustration, Len had run off to the bathroom.

"And now, I'm going to make everything better," he said to his reflection. How dying his hair was going to better his situation was unknown to him, but at least he'd give it a try. Holding his breath, he ran his fingers through his hair, watching as blonde turned to black. Plastic gloves crinkled against his skin, the cheap light bulbs flickered, and Tiffany and Sal continued to yell at each other.

"You just aren't a man, Sal, you're a boy. I need a man."

"I've always been there for you, Tiffany. Have our passionate nights together meant nothing?"

Len rolled his eyes. _I swear, if I have to listen to this for one more minute…_

The show continued, Rin's laughter echoed off the walls. Len could feel his fingers shaking with anger. He hated Tiffany and Sal, but he hated Tiffany more. Her patronizing tone and cold demeanor, the way she brushed Sal off but said that she needed him. Everything about that woman made his skin crawl, his blackened fingers trembling uncontrollably. Tiffany awakened a desire he was trying to subdue, the venom already spreading to his heart. He knew who she reminded him of, but he wouldn't say it, he couldn't say it.

"I need a man, Sal, and you're nothing but a naïve boy."

"Shut…up," Len growled through gritted teeth. He grabbed at his hair. "Shut up."

"You're nothing, Sal, nothing." The words suddenly became slurred, Len's vision was tinged with red.

Tiffany spoke again, but she sounded…odd. "You're nothing."

The waft of blackberries, iris and amber, a strand of pink-tinged hair floating in the air.

"You're nothing, Len, nothing."

"Shut up!" he roared. All abilities of self-restraint left him, and he rammed his fist into the mirror. He regretted it the second his hand met the glass. The mirror shattered, the medicine cabinet flew open from the impact, and a mix of pill bottles and pointed shards fell into the sink.

The television was suddenly turned off and Rin was yelling. "Len, are you ok? What happened? Len!" She dashed into the bathroom, grabbing the doorframe to stop her momentum. Her blue eyes widened and she brought her hand to her mouth. "Len…what…you broke my mirror? And what'd you do to your hair?"

"What, I can't dye my hair? And at least you have two mirrors," he muttered, not looking at his sister. "One for your side and one for—"

Rin's frantic voice cut him off. "This has got to stop!"

"Wait, are you crying?" Len looked up and saw tears swimming in her eyes. He took a step back, he had never seen her like this.

"Just, why? That's what I'd like to know, why do you get so angry all the time?" Rin said, her voice cracking. "Is it me, do you hate living here?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "That's not it at all!"

"Then why? You never told me why you were fired, and you never told me why you couldn't call." Eyes red and swollen, she started nervously pulling on the strings of her hoodie. "All those nights when you were on the road, and I'd just sit at home, waiting. And you'd never call, and…Len, you're bleeding!"

"Huh?" He glanced down, and found his hand drenched in blood. Rin reached for his arm, but he pulled away. "No, it's fine, really."

"Obviously, it's not! Now give me your hand!"

"No, it's none of your business!"

Rin laughed sarcastically. "None of my business, you kidding me? This is my apartment, and when I say 'give me your hand,' you give me your hand!"

"Just back off!" Len roared, hiding his hand behind his back.

"I won't! You might need stitches, just let me look at it!" She attempted to grab his arm, lunging at him with her eyes flaming.

He sidestepped, she leapt forward, a never ending game of cat and mouse. Back and forth and back and forth, they danced across the cramped bathroom until Len's back was up against the shower door.

"Stop being a baby, and just let me see it!" Rin screamed. In one swift movement, she reached for his arm.

_"Just let me see it," his mother said as he hesitated to show her the black eye he'd gotten at school. "Just let me see it," Rin said gently as he held his parent's obituary in his hand, unable to read it aloud. "Just let me see it!" his dance instructor yelled as he struggled to execute a move. "Just let me see it," IA whispered in his ear. "Just let me, and you'll get anything you want."_

"I said NO!" He cried, and then his hand, the same one that had thrown the remote and punched the mirror, the one that had held IA's face and wiped her tears, it struck out at Rin and pushed her to the ground.

She hit the tile, gasping as her wrists broke her fall and her head came forward. Slivers of broken glass cut into her hands and sliced her bare legs. Len watched her fall, heard the crunch as the shards dug into her palms. He stared at his sister, sitting in a pile of shattered glass, her mouth open in disbelief.

"No…I didn't mean…oh, my God," he whimpered. "What did I do…I…Rin, I'm sorry." He took a step back, hitting his head against the shower door. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Rin's face was blank, her eyes fixed on the floor. Pain radiated up through her hands and blood was trickling down her calf. But she felt numb, she saw nothing but her brother, cowering in a corner, tears streaming down his face. She took a deep breath. "Len."

"N-No, just get away. You need to stay away from me, I h-hurt you."

"Len."

"Call the cops, Rin. I pushed you, I hurt you." He pulled at his hair with his stained fingers. "What's wrong with me?"

"Len!" she said forcefully. He looked askance at her. "Stop crying, Len, and help me up."

"What?"

"Do as I say." She raised her arms, stretching her bloody fingers towards him. "Now, please, help me up. I want you near me, you're my brother."

"Rin…" Len stood up, his back still against the glass door. "Really, I'm so sorry."

"Stop talking about it already. It's over." She wiggled her fingers. "You gonna help me, or what?"

"Oh, of course!"

Two sets of pale hands, both bloodied and studded with glass, interlocking fingers in the partially lit bathroom. Cheap light bulbs flickered overhead, and their eyes met. Similar color, similar shape, but they had seen such different things. Both were accustomed to pain and deception, but they had also witnessed kindness and perfection. A flurry of emotions, simultaneously breeding love and hate, every thought and feeling wrapped up inside their brains. They were twins, two parts of a whole, and nothing would ever change that.

Len pulled Rin to her feet, and they stood in the middle of the bathroom, hugging. Rin buried her head in his chest and ran her hand through his hair.

"Just like when we were little," she muttered, "when you were shorter than me. I'd mess with your hair."

"You still do," Len replied. Salty tears were still sliding down his cheeks, slipping in between his lips. He smiled sadly.

"I love you, Len," Rin said, hugging him tighter.

His voice was barely a whisper. "I love you, too."

They helped each other bandage their cuts, and then sat in the family room, the television turned off. Rin was eager to get Len to the hospital, she was certain that he needed stitches.

"I'll call Gumiya and get him to drive us," she said, grabbing the phone off the wall. "He'll be happy to get off work."

"Why don't you just drive?" Len asked.

"Uh, because my hands hurt?"

He lowered his gaze. "Oh."

"Hey, no moping," Rin snapped. "You should just be happy he wasn't home when it happened. He would have beaten the crap out of you." She smiled devilishly, dialed Gumiya's number and started absentmindedly twirling the phone cord. In order to save as much money as possible, she insisted on using an outdated wall phone that constantly dropped calls and distorted voices.

Her eyes suddenly lit up. "Gumiya? Hey, how's work?"

"Uh, it's good," Gumiya replied. "They just want me to stay for a little while longer, I guess. So, is everything all right? You never call me at work."

"Well, it's a funny story," she started, running her finger through the cord. "I was standing on top of the sink—"

"Why were you on the sink?"

"Because there's a burnt out light bulb in the bathroom! Now, don't interrupt. So I was up there and I slipped and kind of fell into the mirror. But Len caught me, and now he's hurt."

"You fell?" Gumiya said. "Are you hurt? Have you called 911? Rin, don't move, I'll be right there."

She rolled her blue eyes. "I'm fine, it's Len who's hurt. So just come home, ok?"

Gumiya's voice was still panicked. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Like I said, don't move!"

Rin sighed as she hung up. "He never listens."

* * *

White knuckles gripping the steering wheel, Gumiya drove with his eyes focused on the road. After rushing home, he had found his girlfriend and her brother covered in angry, red cuts. He had checked the bathroom, and found nothing to indicate a faulty light. Whether he believed that Rin was the one who broke the mirror was of no importance. She was safe, and that was enough for him.

"You all right back there, blondie?" he asked, looking at Len through the rearview mirror.

"I'm fine," Len said quickly. His hand did not hurt that much, but he had a headache and just wanted to go to sleep. The sudden outburst of anger and the fight with Rin had drained him. Every bone ached, his feelings of guilt and shame settled in his veins and poisoned his blood. Honestly, all he wanted was to be back in the arms of his beautiful mistress of music, to taste her lips and earn her love again.

_Must be the blood loss talking, _he thought, laughing without emotion.

"So, uh, Len, I was going to ask you about your hair earlier," Gumiya abruptly said. "What's up with the black? I can't call you blondie anymore."

Len shrugged. "I don't know, guess I just wanted to spice things up."

"Oh, ok." Gumiya uncomfortably adjusted his glasses. "Well, it certainly is…spicy."

"I think it's cute. The color suits you," Rin said, turning around in her seat. She smiled at her brother. "Now, I was thinking, you should come by the studio sometime. I could use an assistant."

"I've never taught before."

"It doesn't matter! It's just a dance class. Besides, I have a few male students, and they'd be really excited to meet someone like you."

Len smiled softly. "If you want me to come, sure. I'd love to."

"Good!" Rin exclaimed. "And you should also start singing again, like you did when we were little. You know you have a great voice."

"Didn't know you could sing, blondie," Gumiya said. "But, seriously, what's with all of these 'life-changing goals' all of a sudden?"

"It'll be good for him," Rin said, punching Gumiya in the arm. "Change is good, it's what keeps us from going crazy."

"I guess so," Len said. He glanced down at his cellphone, at the many missed calls from Yuuma. Why the obnoxious agent kept calling, Len didn't know. IA no longer needed him, she had Piko, so maybe he really could move on with his life.

But could he ever forget the smell of blackberries, the hint of amber that had once intoxicated him like some sick drug? No, he would never forget that, but he could change though, he could definitely change.

"Yeah, change is good," he said slowly. He was oblivious to Rin's excitement, the gears of his mind turning feverishly. He would change everything, become the person he had always wanted to be, and maybe he would become someone that IA could truly love.

"I know exactly what I want and who I want to be," he whispered.

He said this, and smiled.

* * *

**A/N: I made this chapter extra long since I haven't updated in a while. Virtual hugs to those who caught the Hetalia reference in this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it ^^.**


	14. Poisoning the Potted Fern

**A/N: Prepare to see IA at her worst...**

* * *

A day when things are pretty bad, when you wake up alone, tangled up in silk sheets, glitter and vomit forming a halo around your head. The day after her concert, IA found herself on the floor, laying dagger dead, wearing the same outfit from the night before, and feeling sicker than ever. Pale body stretched out on the tile, flawless skin dotted with goose bumps, her stomach bulging with expensive champagne and the ever-growing baby that made her head reel.

_You shouldn't drink if you're pregnant, IA._

"I-I know…" she sputtered, eyes half open in the encroaching daylight. "I…know that…duh."

The last four words were too much for her to handle. They triggered a gag reflex and made her stomach lurch. Moaning, she rolled over and shoved her face into a potted fern, her fingers trembling. Kneeling on the mess of tear stained sheets, she puked into the porcelain vase, sharp leaves tickling her cheek. Defiling such a beautiful plant, tainting its soil with drops of alcoholic acid, it was all so disgusting.

The entire night had been disgusting. IA remembered the after party with its flashing lights and bone shattering music. Beats and base, pulsating lyrics that made her back arch, dancing bodies and Piko's arms wrapped around her, his lips on her neck. Each kiss had been a lethal injection, lances of pain and guilt running up her spine.

Glowing lights became blurry tears as the party faded from memory. IA clutched her stomach and leaned further into the vase as the heaves became more violent.

_So disgusting, _she thought as strands of hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. _Yes, but it had been kind of nice, too. Remember? Piko, so cold and agressive, longing for fame…_

It all started in the shower. Rushing water struck the tile and the air became thick with steam. After stepping inside, a fresh bottle of champagne in hand, IA's mind wandered. She hardly remembered anything, just the sickening sweetness of the alcohol, Piko's handprints on the glass, and his dripping silver hair. She would not allow him to touch her stomach, the fear that he would discover her secret was too great. Steam billowed, a bottle full of banana scented shampoo turned over, and IA began to cry.

"I'm fat, so ugly," she whimpered, tears streaming down her face.

Piko said nothing.

Bubbles floated by, encapsulating the scent that reminded her of Len. Crying became sobbing, water droplets mixing with tears. Piko kissed her neck and she was still as a statue. She felt numb, unable to think or breathe. A white hand grabbed the champagne bottle and brought it to her lips. Then someone was kissing her, a boy with silver hair, but she didn't care who it was. Alcohol trickled down her throat, sunk into her pores and stained her lips. Sugary, syrupy lips that tasted like liquor, no longer soft and pink. The silver-haired boy continued to kiss her, grabbing at her hair and pressing her against the tiled wall.

_Who are you? _she thought. _Just some toy. Sure, we're the same, but this 'love' is just a sick game…disgusting._

Piko was oblivious to her detachment. After all, he was just holding up his end of the bargain. He felt her throat suddenly constrict, her thin body convulsing beneath his.

"The alcohol…" she muttered, grasping her neck. "Why did I do that?"

"I guess I better go get ready, then," Piko said quickly. He saw the expression on her face, the same one that he had seen countless times in the mirror, and knew it was time to go. As he shut the shower door and grabbed a towel off the counter, IA was already puking into the drain.

Piko waited on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, while she pressed her lips against the metal grate and cradled the shampoo bottle in her shaking arms.

"He's nothing like you, Len," she said to the empty bottle. "He doesn't smell like you, or act like you. And he makes me…" She tasted the champagne on her lips. "He makes me want to do things. It's like I have a hole inside my head." Holding the shampoo bottle, she curled up on the white tile, already regretting the night and wishing it would all go away. But it was her nature, to want things, and maybe she wanted the silver angel. Some angel, giving her nothing but tears and champagne, but she still felt celestial.

Fuzzy memories as she stumbled into the elevator, gripping Piko's arm, her knuckles white.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it," he said, absentmindedly running his fingers over his teeth. Pieces of chipped nail polish, sea foam green, fluttered to the ground.

"You satisfied?" IA said, her words becoming heavy. "This is all you havtta do for fame. You satisfied with a easy ride, huh, Piko?" She batted playfully at his nose.

"I wouldn't exactly call this easy." He turned his head. "But I'd certainly call you easy."

The elevator doors slid open. Piko grabbed IA's hand. "Let's put on a good show. We need people to think that we're really together."

"But I can't pretend," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'm not a robot…"

Robot, not a robot, a lifeless machine that never felt a thing. She wasn't a robot, no, of course she wasn't. But if she wasn't a robot, then why had the champagne fried her system and made her brain blank?

The after party was a frantic heartbeat that made IA's ears buzz and her eyes go wide. The rich and famous danced around her, but she couldn't make out who they were. Piko was barely visible through the fog and black lights, his skin an unearthly white. He grabbed IA's waist and she fell into his arms, her limp body pressing against his. Pink-tinged hair melded with pieces of silver, their noses barely brushing. IA felt it then, the familiar shiver that made her eyelids flutter, but it was gone in an instant, replaced by a wave of confusion and nausea. No wonder everyone thought she and Piko were getting close on the dance floor, she was draped across him like dirty towel, struggling to stand up.

That's why she decided to leave early, or, more specifically, why Piko dragged her away from the party.

Her glassy eyes narrowed as he pulled her across the parking lot. _Wait, I'm 'sposed to be dragging him, right?_

She blinked, and they were in her hotel room, sitting on the white bed. Piko was taking her boots off and tossing them onto the floor. _This isn't what I wanted. _She leaned back on her elbows, gasping for breath. _Not what I wanted at all._

"Piko…" she said, her voice weak.

"Hmm?"

"Piko, I don't feel well."

"Don't be such a lightweight, Aria," he said, balling up her black stocking and throwing it onto the tile.

She hissed in both frustration and pain. "D-Don't call me that."

"It's your real name, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but you can't do that. You…" Her voice faded. "You don't know me," she managed to croak.

Piko leaned towards her. "Of course I do. You're just like me, Aria. Cold, lost, and alone, just wanting to succeed in life." He flashed an icy smile. "We're perfect for each other. The Ice Queen and her Prince, remember? We might as well be the same person."

IA shook her head back and forth.

"Come on, Aria, face it," he said. "You love yourself more than anyone, I love myself more than anyone; we're the same. Could there be a more fitting couple, two narcissists who just want to kiss the mirror? I get to say that I'm with the most famous pop star in the world, and you get someone to make you feel better."

"No," IA gasped. "No, I don't feel better. I thought I was using you, but you're the one using me. I was wrong, Yuuma was wrong." She gritted her teeth. "You're no Len."

"Len?" Piko repeated the name slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"Just leave, ok?" IA growled. "Len would have never let me drink."

Piko's face was emotionless. "Aria…"

"Don't call me that!" she shouted. "Now leave me alone!" Her sister's knife, the bottles of alcohol, the baby, all of her pills and forced habits, it all stabbed at her abdomen. She could no longer hold it down, so she leaned over the side of the bed and puked all over the floor.

It was awful, lasting for what felt like days. She gripped the sheets, upheaving the champagne meant for a wedding, for a happy day that would probably never come for her. Fabricated wealth, happiness, and satisfaction, all of it came pouring out. When she finally looked up, wiping her mouth with the satin comforter, Piko was gone.

"H-He l-left m-me," IA stammered, her lower lip quivering. Hot tears flowed down her face. "Screw you, Piko!" She collapsed against a pillow, screaming and crying.

And her body was no longer her own. Hands groped for the half empty bottle, and pink lips sucked it all down. Drinking until she ached all over, not caring, not thinking. She drank until she was sick, then wiped her mouth on the sheets and drank some more. One bottle became two then turned to three. What was she doing? She wasn't an alcoholic. But maybe she could forget everything once and for all; maybe she could drink the baby away and finally be rid of the jeers, criticisms, and comparisons. Maybe her debauchery would call Len to her; he would sense her pain and come running into her arms.

_Why'd I make him leave? I thought I could replace him, but I was wrong…Yuuma, look what you did to me!_

Sad inside, unsatisfied, her mask shattered, her diamond of perfection shattered into a million pieces. She threw herself across the bed, rolling across the stained sheets and moaning. Moaning turned to screaming as she angrily pushed on her abdomen and shoved her fingers down her throat. She just wanted to be rid of it all. But the champagne was a stone in the pit of her stomach. It stayed there throughout the night, and when she finally passed out, it seeped into her dreams, making IA believe she was puking in her sleep.

And now she was leaning into a porcelain vase, regretting everything.

There was a sudden knock at the door. "Hey, IA, it's Yuuma. I know Piko's in there right now, but I need to come in, it's important."

"You!" IA shouted, gasping for breath. She only had a few seconds to yell at him, she could feel the champagne rising. "Worst idea ever! Piko's just a jerk and—" She gagged and wrapped her hands around her throat. "A man-whore! That's what Piko is!"

"What's wrong with you?" Yuuma asked, concern in his voice. "IA, you sound like you're being strangled. What happened with Piko? You know what, forget the formalities, I'm coming in."

Slipping the spare keycard into the lock, Yuuma burst in, breathing hard, his tie hanging crooked against his chest. He saw empty champagne bottles, a bed that was no longer white, and IA lying on the floor in a pool of her own vomit. A starved doll with flawless skin, bloodshot eyes, and pink-tinged hair that was spread out wildly around her, lying in a valley of her own sin.

"Give me back my Len," she whimpered, and then her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

"IA!" Yuuma shouted. He fell on his knees beside her, gathering her in his arms. "IA, wake up!"

Beneath his white palms, he felt her heartbeat. At least she was still alive. Cradling her limp body, he ripped out his phone and dialed 911.

_Alcohol poisoning, no doubt. What was she thinking, what is happening? And her baby, both of them might…_

"No," Yuuma said firmly as he listened to the phone ring. "She'll be fine. Yeah, I know she will be." He rapidly blinked his eyes and held her tighter.

"911, please state your emergency."

* * *

Miki sat on the curb, stroking Cherry's back as she anxiously looked for signs of IA. She was just outside the hotel, waiting near the valet parking lane. A swollen sun beat down, making the air shimmer with heated mirages. The top of Miki's red hair was hot to touch, but she didn't mind.

Her eyes watched the expensive cars as they drove by, their pretentious occupants giving her un-approving glares. Miki waved to people as they passed, a ridiculous smile on her face.

"Look at these people's faces!" she exclaimed. "They look scared." She glanced down at Cherry, who was busy cleaning her paws. "But I guess I do look kinda weird out here. I mean, look what I'm wearing."

A red sports bra was visible beneath a baggy, black tank top. A white silhouette of the famous pop star was standing in the center of the shirt, holding a microphone stand. Miki's shorts were a faded blue jean, ripped pockets peeking out from the hem, and her socks were red and fuzzy.

"It's weird, Cherry," she said, wiggling her feet. "I don't know how I managed to forget shoes. Like I ran out of the dorm and now here I am, a shoeless hobo with messy hair and a black cat as my only friend." She grinned and fell back against the concrete, stretching in the hot sun. "It's really odd, Cherry. Really, really odd."

"Um, excuse me, miss," a quiet voice said.

"Oh, hi!" Miki said, noticing a man standing over her. He looked awfully hot in his black suit.

"What are you doing out here? Guests have been complaining about a strange girl wearing no shoes. Some have mentioned a cat, as well."

"Yep, that's me." She picked up her cat and made it wave one of its paws. "And this is Cherry. We're just waiting for someone, that's all."

"Well, as long as you don't cause trouble," the man said stiffly. "We don't need delinquents loitering outside our hotel."

"I'm not a delinquent," Miki said. "Just because those snooty people inside your hotel think fuzzy socks brand me as a delinquent doesn't mean it's true." She flashed a massive smile. "Like I said, I'm just waiting."

The man stared at her for a moment and then walked away. "Just don't bother the guests," he said as he turned around.

"Aye, aye!" Miki said, saluting dramatically. She swore she could hear the man laughing.

Minutes passed, the sun climbed higher in the sky. Miki paced up and down the sidewalk, found a penny and spun it on the ground, and then lay back down on the concrete. Half her body was in sunlight, half was in the shade of the hotel's giant awning. Swathed in shadows, her right side felt cold, so she rolled over into the sunlight, sighing.

"Where is IA?" she asked Cherry. "It's ten in the morning."

Cherry was silent. Her ears were perked up, her eyes fixed on something in the distance.

Miki waved her hand in front of the cat's face. "Earth to Cherry. What is it?"

An alarm suddenly sounded. Turning her head, Miki saw an ambulance speeding down the crowded intersection.

"Wow, somebody must be really hurt."

It raced through the red light and pulled into the hotel parking lot. Miki jumped back as it came up beside the curb. Shrinking against the manicured hedges, she watched as people hurried out of the truck and into the hotel. Guests began chattering, complaining, trying to guess who the unlucky person was.

Miki could hear one of the paramedics. "The top floor, the penthouse."

"The penthouse," Miki repeated. "IA always stays in the penthouse." Her eyes widened. "It's IA. She's hurt."

She stood in the middle of a flowerbed, green hedges behind her, crushed roses beneath her feet. The sun beat down on her face, evaporating her tears before they could even fall.

* * *

"There's a lot of glass. Are you sure you didn't punch a mirror?"

"Uh, yeah," Len said.

"Whatever you say." There was laughter in the doctor's voice. A middle-aged man with glasses, his eyes crinkled whenever he smiled, and he smiled a lot.

Len felt awkward, offering a forced half-smile whenever the doctor looked his way. He was trying not to look at his hand, choosing, instead, to stare at a speck of dirt on the white floor. It intrigued him; it was the first piece of uncleanliness he had ever seen in a hospital. The doctor continued his work, pulling out shards of glass and tossing them into a metal pan. Len felt his eyes widen when the doctor began sowing up his arm.

"Man up," Gumiya said gruffly. He was sitting in a chair, a bored expression on his face as he stared at a poster of the human body that was tacked to the wall. Chewing on a toothpick, he heaved a sigh and sunk into the chair, his long legs splayed out in front of him.

Rin was sitting beside him, her cuts clean and bandaged. The overly-happy doctor had offered to fix her up before Len.

_Yeah, let's ignore the fact that I have a gaping hole in my hand, _Len thought.

He must have been making some kind of face, because Gumiya said, "Seriously, man, relax. It's just stitches. When I was a mechanic, I had to—"

"Stitch up your own toe 'cause you got it run over by a car and it was dangling off your foot. I know the story."

"Think you're so smart…" Gumiya muttered. "And you wanna see it? You think your arm's a mess, you should see my toe."

"Don't take off your shoes in here!" Rin said, punching him in the shoulder. "We've seen it before, Gumiya. I have to see it all the time."

"It's not like I constantly shove my foot in your face. He just needs to understand, that's all."

"Understand what?" Len asked, rolling his eyes.

Gumiya leaned forward and pointed the toothpick at him. "That you should man up."

Len snorted and looked back at the speck of dirt. Feeling a tugging sensation on his arm, he knew it was the needle.

_Don't think about! Don't think about it!_

After a few minutes, the doctor said, "There, all done." He laughed. "It's been a slow day, it was nice of you guys to give me something to do."

"Uh, thanks," Len replied.

_This guy is way too happy to be a doctor._

The sound of footsteps suddenly caught his attention. He looked up from the speck and saw a gurney go rolling by, accompanied by several nurses. Then he saw a man, a tall man wearing a tie, his hair a pale shade of pink. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, unable to follow the gurney any further, and turned his head.

Len thought he was going to pass out. Hawk-like eyes bore through his brain, making him wince. It was the agent, her agent. Yuuma was here, he was following the gurney, so who was lying on the gurney?

Len's mind was blank. "IA…"


	15. State of Dreaming

**A/N: So this chapter is mostly background information on IA, since her life really hasn't been explained yet. I promise Len and IA will reunite in the next chapter, which should be interesting xD. Enjoy and please review.**

* * *

A little girl with short black hair, holding a seashell and smiling up at IA. "Look, sis, isn't it pretty?"

"Yes, it's beautiful," IA said, kneeling down in front of her. "And you're beautiful, too. Don't forget that."

The girl's face fell, pieces of black hair falling in front of her eyes. "Don't tell lies, sis…"

"It's not a lie; you're a very pretty girl." IA smiled at her sister, a soft, sad smile that made her lip quiver.

"But I'll never be like you," the black haired girl muttered. "Everyone says you're really pretty. You're gonna be famous someday."

"People call you pretty, too." IA did not know if this was true, but it was all she could say. What else was there?

The two of them at the beach, the black haired girl in shorts and a baggy t-shirt, too self-conscious to strip down to her bathing suit, her unkempt hair blowing in the wind. And then there was IA, kneeling in the sand, a black string bikini revealing her perfect body and perfect skin, soft pink tresses flailing behind her. Men would walk by and stare at her.

The black haired girl saw them standing on the dunes, glaring at her perfect sister and licking their lips.

She glanced up at IA, turning the seashell over in her hand. "I want people to look at me the way they look at you, sis."

"Don't say that," she snapped, furrowing her eyebrows. "They're just a bunch of gross, perverted men. You deserve more than that and…" Blue eyes roved the pure white sand, trying not to cry. "And so do I."

The black haired girl threw the shell back into the tide pool. It struck a rock and broke in two, its perfection ruined.

"Hey, you don't have to get upset," IA said softly. She went to brush the hair out of her sister's eyes, but a pale hand swatted her fingers away.

"I'm not upset; I just want to be perfect like you. Why can't people stare at me like that? I want them to." Her toes traced patterns in the sand. "People just stare at me because I'm weird, weird and ugly."

"Who called you that?" IA demanded, grabbing her shoulders. "Are people picking on you? You know you can tell me any—"

"It doesn't matter." Her toes dug deep into the ground, her hands clenched into fists. "Let's just go home, I don't feel good."

"Oh, ok…" IA dropped her hands and stood up. "Is it your stomach again?"

"Yeah…" The black haired girl swayed and clutched her abdomen.

With her hand against her body, IA could see the thin contours of her waist, the rib bones that protruded out like sharp sea rocks. Her sister just had the flu, she wasn't depressed, she wasn't anorexic, she couldn't be.

_No, it's just the stomach flu. That's going around…right?_

Right, of course it was going around. IA repeated this inside her head as they drove home, unused shovels and inner tubes in the back of the car.

They pulled over twice so that her sister could throw up.

_Yeah, it's definitely some kind of stomach bug._

And when they finally got home, the black haired fled to her room and locked the door.

Alone in the kitchen, IA picked up the phone and called the nursing home.

"Uh, hey, mom. It's Aria."

The voice of her mother answered, high-strung and irritated, obviously too young to be confined inside those white walls. But she was frail and sick, delicate and…insane. Mental illness had sunk deep into her brain, a bad case of neurotic perfectionism and bipolar disorder.

"Aria…about time you called."

"Sorry, mom," IA said, sitting on top of the kitchen counter. "I was at the beach with—"

"Doesn't matter. So how are you, how's your sister?"

"I'm fine." She noticed a salt shaker sitting dangerously close to the sink and started pushing it with her toes. "I'm great, actually."

A hostile, snapping voice. "Your sister?"

"I think she has the stomach flu." Push the salt shaker even closer towards the edge. "But she'll be all right, don't worry."

"I'm not."

"Ok, uh, that's good." The salt shaker toppled into the sink. "I don't ever want you to worry."

It struck the metal with a sharp ping!

"I just said I'm not worried. Why do you always drag things out, Aria?" Her voice sped up, she breathed hard into the telephone. "I'm not worried, but you keep saying I should be. I don't want to be!"

"Mom, I—"

"You can't make me worried!" The sound of muffled tears came through the receiver. "Why do you always do this, blame your troubles on me?"

"I'm not bl—"

"Yes, yes you are! You hate me, Aria, I know it! I wasn't a perfect mother, so you hate me!"

The rambling continued for a few more minutes. IA sat in silence atop the counter, watching the salt as it spiraled into the drain, her blue eyes blinking back tears

Her mother's words became shards of glass thrown at a hundred miles an hour. IA was useless, apparently, a useless, spoiled brat who blamed her problems on her mother. And her sister was sick because of her, and her mother was sick because of her and she was the one that drove her mother to insanity. She wasn't perfect, but, according to her mother, she should have been.

Then one of the nurses grabbed the phone, whispering and cooing softly at IA's mother.

"Just calm down, sweetheart. It's all right. No one is going to hurt you."

IA couldn't help rolling her eyes on the other side of the phone. They treated her mother like she was some helpless victim.

_Victim, please._

"Aria," the nurse said. "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but your mother needs to rest. Maybe you should call some other time."

"Fine." Her teeth gritted in frustration, IA ended the call and threw the phone into the sink. It didn't break as she had hoped.

It lay like a stone, a heavy grey stone sliding towards the drain. Salt scattered around it, dots of white that sunk into the disposal, the phone came to a rest just above the gaping hole.

IA wanted to push it deep into the drain and turn on the disposal. Metal fans would slice metal sheets and it would collapse into slivers of silver and broken circuitry. But she couldn't do that, it was the only house phone they had.

So she just glared at it, sitting amongst the salt. She watched the phone, felt the cold countertop beneath her feet, heard her sister retching in the bathroom, and reminded herself that the stomach flu was going around.

* * *

It was going around…so maybe that's why she felt sick, too. The phone was a heavy stone, so was the alcohol inside her side, weighing on her insides, making her moan.

But where was she? She was no longer on a countertop, no; she was lying on a bed. A stiff bed layered in thin sheets. People were hovering over her, their faces blurred.

Half-awake, half-asleep, lights dancing overhead. Was she at a concert?

No, she was lying down. And she would never perform lying down, that would be stupid.

So why was she lying down? She wanted to sit up, clutch her stomach, and scream. It was so hard to puke while lying down, but she felt it coming on.

So sick, she had never felt so sick in her entire life. Her head pounded, her body burned, and her stomach hurt so much.

And then there was a different pain, something deep down inside her. It was sharp and stinging. She must have screamed, because someone was holding her down and an IV was being inserted into her veins.

Muffled voices and glaring lights, the feeling of approaching sleep. But the sharp pain was still there, and her back arched.

The pain peaked and she collapsed against the bed. Eyes rolling to the back of her head, she moaned and once again fell asleep.

* * *

And then she was sitting in an empty pew.

A few hundred people had come, well-wishers and fakers pretending to be sad.

Her sister was in front of her, inside a heavy wooden box. A wreath of flowers sat atop the polished cedar. The pastor was collecting his things a little too slowly, occasionally glancing over to see if IA was still there.

She was. She would always be there in front of that heavy wooden box.

The pastor had made her sister sound so strong and courageous. She was "taken too soon", and was "too young to die", but hadn't she taken herself away?

The words of the pastor were kind, but they were also a lie. Her sister had not been a strong person, obviously. If she was so strong, then why had she given up?

"You left me alone," IA whispered to the box. "You knew how much I loved you, you knew that. And now I'm here, all alone." A tear traced itself down her cheek. "Mother will always be in that home, Dad…we'll never know where he went, he could be dead, too…and you're gone forever, sis. You decided to leave me…you did that."

IA's body shook with suppressed sobs and a wave of guilty hate washed over her.

She was alone.

_I got wet with rain. My hair looked frozen. I gave vent to loneliness into a toilet bowl. I'm shivering and waiting for you…_

That song connected the two sisters more than IA knew.

The black haired girl thought: _I'm so regretful that I wanna die. I get as much pleasure as regrets. I'm gonna go nuts, stop me please. Make me come off and kill me right away. What leaked out of the wound is love or…_

In the darkness of her bedroom, she aimed a silver kitchen knife at her chest and plunged it into her body, murdered by her own hand. The taunts of pretty girls had added up, conglomerating into a huge pile of filth and hate.

Her life had meant nothing to them.

They saw her in her black stockings and brown, clunky shoes and thought, "Look, an easy target". And when she didn't respond to the hair pulling and name calling they thought, "Look, she's spineless, this'll be fun".

With their words they ripped open her heart and shattered her fragile spine. It had been slowly growing inside her, soft and white like the snakes that slithered through the cemetery. Slowly, her confidence was rebuilding itself, and then a couple of immature cheerleaders took it all away.

Repetitive, unending, the insults rained down on her until she was a puddle of sadness and blood, stripped down to the core of her mortality.

Blood was all she needed to die.

It flowed out of her that night and pooled on the wooden floor. She was tired of the nightmares that crawled into her chest and made it hard to breathe. Being nothing more than a used spoon to the girls who mistreated her, passed around again and again. Kicked to the floor, labeled as a zero in a land of perfect tens, the black haired girl had finally had enough.

As she lay dying, looking askance at the blood that was outlining her body, she sent a text. Fingertips, stained a deep red, punched out two sentences, pressed send, and then became still.

A few seconds later, IA's phone buzzed beneath her cheek. She had fallen asleep with it in her hand, waiting for a talent scout named Meiko to return her call. Her eyes popped open in the darkness and she looked down at the glowing screen.

Two black words looked back:

Sorry sis.

* * *

Sorry…sorry for what?

Sorry for the tubes that were now being rammed down her throat?

Once again in that state of unawareness, she saw the dancing lights and felt the plastic sliding down her esophagus, coming to a rest in the pit of her stomach.

IA wanted to gag, her body flailing as her spine arched and legs twitched. Were they going to experiment on her? Was she going to die?

A voice drifted across the infinite plane of space and time. "Need…stomach pumped…she…just relax. IA…hear me? Relax."

Someone suddenly moved her body, placing her on her left side with her face down.

The rest was foggy, not worthy remembering in her mind. It was all disgusting…so imperfect.

Saline poured down the tube, saline pumped back out. Over and over again.

Lavage and suction. Lavage and suction.

Then a voice said "Stomach contents running clear," and it was over.

Gagging, tube removed, body falling against the thin sheets and then IA was out, burned out like a star sliding down to meet its end.

* * *

Yuuma was sitting in the waiting room, legs crossed as he read the top headlines on his phone.

There it was, eight small, black words staring up at him, followed by a short article.

**Pop star OD's on alcohol and dieting pills**

Earlier this morning, IA, this year's rising pop star, was rushed to the hospital after an OD on alcohol and dieting pills. IA's agent declined comment, but friends say that IA has been struggling with addiction and eating disorders for a while. This unfortunate event may weaken IA's popularity, and put a damper on her concert last night. After the concert, IA was reportedly seen leaving the party with Piko Utatane.

"She was just so drunk; I had to take her back to her hotel room. I tried to stay, worried about her condition, but she threw me out," a distraught Utatane said.

According to doctors, IA is stable, though her career may no longer be.

_Who wrote this piece of crap? _Yuuma thought angrily. _Friends…IA has no friends, where did they get this information? And 'distraught' Piko…I could kill him._

_And you should kill yourself too, idiot. You're the one who set them up._

"I know," he muttered, his voice straining. "But back to this article. 'Put a damper on', really? Such pointless clichés and lack of proper syntax. And the writer can't even spell out overdose. Are people's attention spans really that short?!"

_And I declined to comment, did I? You bet I did, stupid, nosy maggots of the media._

They were everywhere, swarming around the hospital, their cameras flashing, their faces pressed against the windows. Some had come inside, mercilessly questioning doctors and nurses until they were forced out. The few that made it over to Yuuma did nothing but snap dozens of photographs and repeat the same questions.

"What happened?"

"As her new agent, do you feel that you have failed?"

"How long has she been struggling with addiction?"

Yuuma kept his eyes glued to his phone. "Screw you," he said calmly.

Apparently, in the media world, 'screw you' meant 'declined comment'. He never looked up from the blank screen, his hair in front of his eyes, his mask of composure threatening to break.

IA was not an addict, she was just sick. Sick and maybe a little crazy. But it would be all right, because he would get her help, he'd find a therapist, a rehabilitation center, anything.

And he would call it a rehabilitation center, not 'rehab', because he did not believe in pointless abbreviations.

Yes, he would actually help her for once. Piko could get pummeled by a truck for all he cared, and Len could go jump off a four-story building. He would do this alone, he would save IA.

* * *

While Yuuma was busy staring intently at his phone, Len was creeping through the hospital halls.

IA was somewhere in the building, he knew it. He had seen her on the gurney, and Rin had noticed a new Tweet while absentmindedly skimming through her Twitter account.

Another pop star falls. IA admitted to the ER this morning, OD #scandalous

Her body had gone rigid, her eyes widening. Len had known right then that his assumption was correct.

For the rest of their ER visit, he blew it off. Shrugging his shoulders, pretending not to care. It was agonizing, the entire surface of his skin itching as he waited for the doctor to just let them go.

At last, they were walking through the double doors of the hospital. Reporters were everywhere. Rin glanced nervously at Len, but he sauntered on, his hands in his pockets.

_Just look as nonchalant as possible. Don't look at the reporters, pretend you don't see them and that you don't see IA's face in front of you…lying on that gurney…half-awake…half-dead…Ok, it's time!_

He suddenly groaned a little too dramatically and stopped in the middle of the parking lot.

Gumiya kept walking, oblivious, but Rin grabbed his shirt. Turning to her brother she asked, "What's wrong, Len? You ok?"

"No, I think that sushi I had for lunch was bad."

"Suck it up," Gumiya said, spitting the chewed straw onto the blacktop.

Rin punched him in the shoulder. "Be nice. Len, you want to go to the bathroom? Me and Gumiya can wait in the car. Seriously, it's ok."

"Really?" Len said, his eyes lighting up. He was acting too excited, too bubbly, Gumiya was raising his eyebrows.

_Len, act sick. Don't blow this, they have to buy it so you can go back inside!_

"I mean, really…thanks, Rin." Then he groaned again. "Oh, I think it's coming back up!" And then he bolted towards the hospital, a grin spread across his face.

He had fooled them; he would get to see IA at last.

And now he was walking through the halls, determined to remain unseen by the staff. Her room could be anywhere.

White tile beneath bright yellow lights, walking casually down the corridors, hiding his bandaged hand in his pocket. He casually rounded a corner and found the pink-haired agent standing there with eyes of golden flame.

"You…" the agent whispered. "What are you doing here?"


	16. Magnets

**A/N: So I apologize for not updating for 2 months! I just completely forgot about this story for some unknown reason. Forgive me, dear readers. And I apologize for this chapter's short length. Next chapter will be longer and up soon! So, this chapter is about as fluffy as this story gets (hahaha). I wanted to take a break from all of the heaviness, especially after explaining IA's sister's suicide last chapter. Enjoy the LenxIA action and please review! :D**

**P.S: I wonder who gave Len his black eye? xD**

* * *

Her eyes flitted open, her mind heavy. Brief confusion overtook her thoughts.

_Where am I?_

IA blinked in the bright light. That's all she saw, light.

Cold sheets rested beneath her cheek, a kind of icy chill running across the protruding spine. Nothing but nothingness, so she decided to turn over onto her back and look at the white world around her. The light came from every direction like some kind of beacon. It hurt her eyes and gave her a headache. It was all slowly melting, slowly without consciousness. Each breath felt forced.

Everything was a blur of reversed shadows and upside down darkness. White and black instead of black and white, everything was wrong. Who was grasping her hand? Who was stroking her hair? Shards of time flew by without a sound, unreal visages pulling at her body and sucking her into the light.

The world spun on its toes, blue-eyed creatures grabbing at her eyelids and ankles.

_Oh my God, where am I? They're trying to kill me!_

Drops of liquid suddenly fell upon her face. IA yelped, jolting into a sitting position while her arms flailed wildly.

Someone started yelling. "Hey, relax! Calm down, it's okay!"

The voice sounded familiar. Soft and sweet, with all of the sugar of an overripe banana. It felt wonderful on her eardrums. And for a moment, she was gone.

Nowhere. Just floating around in space while hands grabbed her and that voice screamed her name.

She hadn't heard that voice in so long. Memories flooded her vision. A blonde boy standing in an elevator, a backup dancer sweating beneath the lights, a lover tangled in silk sheets, a friend making breakfast and always waiting with that cup of tea.

Her blue eyes focused and she saw him there.

Len Kagamine was in front of her, sitting at the edge of the bed. He was crying and had a black eye, but she saw none of that.

It was a feeling she had not experienced in years. For so long, she'd been watered down. Empty and cold while warm fingers tried to touch her skin. Passionless, she wandered through the streets, each night full of strange men and white dust.

No one else knew about that. Her life before stardom was a clouded one. Only him, only Len Kagamine. He was the sole possessor of that knowledge and now he was there.

Some kind of happiness crept through her veins. This backup dancer, he was the only one. With each movement, he knew how to break her down into a young girl. Youth was back again, filling her head with warm liquid.

IA was floating in the waters of her heart. Pain shot through her chest. It was the good kind of pain, though. She would rather float than be constantly exploding.

The look he was giving her, unlike anything she had ever seen. Pink lips, curled into a smile, made her weightless. A shiver ran up her spine.

"Miss IA?" Len said, his voice soft.

He gripped her arms with his pale fingers. Tears curved down his chin. "IA, it's Len. Remember me?"

"O-of course," she muttered. Blue eyes were welling. It was too much; she could no longer control herself.

But did it really matter?

"You've been gone for weeks. Your hair's black…" Her voice fades. "Where have you been?"

He looked down at the floor. "Yeah, it's black now. I, uh, don't you want to know what happened to you, Miss IA? You must feel awful and—" His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "And you must be upset."

"Well, I do feel like crap," she said, noticing how hoarse she sounded. "I must look it, too."

"No. No, you look great." He didn't look at her as he said this. Almost like he was trying to avoid her gaze.

"But why would I be upset, Len? Sure, there's the obvious. Piko's a douche and Yuuma probably hates me, but should that really make me upset?"

"Huh?"

Now here was something different. Len's voice sounded familiar as ever. It gave her chills and made her claw at the bed sheets. But her voice, it sounded so odd. What was she saying?

Candied lips were speaking words she had never said. The tube that had been shoved down her throat, it removed more than alcohol.

Maybe she was lightheaded from the…

What was it? An accident? An ordeal? Or had she done it all on purpose? Her final effort for attention, just like her stupid sister.

She must have been too cold, even for death.

A hand suddenly touched her face. "IA? You keep spacing out," Len said. His fingers were trembling. "And you're acting strange. Maybe I should get the nur—"

"Don't you dare," IA growled.

And then she pulled him forward and their lips met. She kissed him furiously, running her tongue over his teeth. She had never noticed him like this before.

How his hair fell into his eyes and moved across his forehead with each nod and shake; the muscular arms and figure; the face, the smile, and those eyes. The wide blue eyes that were pieces of the sky. They swirled and eddied, one solid color spinning like a hurricane.

IA loved those eyes. They stared straight ahead as she kissed him, with shock or coldness she could not tell. The arms around his neck unlocked and embraced him, and her head came to rest on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she mumbled over and over again. A mix of sweat and tears slid down her face. "I just, I don't know what's wrong with me sometimes. I act like HER. I know I do and I can't help it!"

Sobbing into his shirt, she let herself go.

He felt her tears through the thin cotton, her body pressed up against his. Pink-tinged hair settled on his arms. All of it felt like a dream.

IA was lost to him, there was no possibility of this moment happening. Having her there, crying and apologizing like some schoolgirl, it wasn't real.

Len was silent. Machines beeped and IV's pumped. He touched his lips with his tongue and felt her there. Remnants of IA.

The waft of blackberries, iris and amber, a strand of pink-tinged hair floating in the air.

His eyes widened.

Fluorescents in the ceiling gave light to her figure beneath the hospital gown. Every curve and dip, every aspect of that perfect porcelain skin.

He had missed her so much. Going through the stages of grief, anger, and hate, he had learned to forget about her. But seeing her…this was completely different. Once again, IA was within his reach.

His mistress of music hovered like an angel.

_Hating her will just have to wait, _he told himself. _I can't right now. This is too…perfect._

Leaning towards her, he sang softly.

_"Draw me closer, as if we are two magnets,  
that even if we separate, we will reunite again.  
Let's become one; it's okay not to able to turn back.  
That's fine, for you're my one and only love."_

IA gasped. Len never sang for her, not without her endless bullying. For once, his lips moved of their own accord.

No "I accept your apology", no "It's ok", just a song.

Their song.

"Len, please. Come here, come here right now." She had been static for too long. Already, chills were wracking her spine and her fingernails dug into the sheets.

"IA, we're in a hospital…"

"Doesn't matter." Shaking her head, she started pulling the white curtain around the bed. "I want to wipe out all the sad ideas that come to me when I am holding you. Please."

Len swallowed. Even in her state, she was still so intoxicating. Exhausted, sick, and beautiful, she pulled him towards her. Like a magnet.

"B-but IA, you're not well. It isn't good for you to—"

_Always looking out for me. I should have noticed that before._

"We don't have to do it," she said, habitually smoothing her hair. "We can skim the edge; maybe look over into the abyss. But remember, the abyss will be staring back at us."

"What?" Len asked. "You're not making any sense."

"Pain medication." Her only explanation.

Then she lay back against the stiff pillow, her body spread-eagled on the stiff bed. "Now come here, Len. Let's obsess for a while."

So he crawled into the hospital bed, pulling the curtain shut behind him.

Everything was going to be all right. He just knew it. The new black hair, he knew it would be good luck.

_Maybe she will compliment it, maybe not. Maybe she'll ask about my black eye…_

The thought of this made him smile as he settled atop her and brushed away those pink-tinged locks. He had so much to tell her.

And afterwards, everything would be all right.


	17. Unbreakable Promise

**A/N: IAxLen is my OTP, so I just had to drag their reunion scene out xD. Enjoy and please review!**

* * *

No matter what she had done to him, at that moment, she was perfection. Her body beneath him, soft and milky white. Pink-tinged hair tangled in his hands. The hospital gown was pulled up, revealing her beautiful figure.

But at the sight of her protruding ribcage, Len started to cry.

Her skin was stretched taut over her bones. Sharp lines and edges outlined the emaciated body. So fragile, like a skeleton made out of glass. He grazed her paper-thin flesh with a trembling finger. What if he broke her? What if she was ripped apart beneath his touch? Hurting her was something he could never do, not again.

"Don't cry," she whispered, pulling his head toward her. "No sadness today. Just…forget…obsess with me."

He gasped as her tongue swept across his cheek. Each tear vanished. Sweat beaded, candied lips pulled him in, and then he was gone. Lost within the folds of IA.

She was forty-four inches from hip to foot. As they kissed, eighty-eight inches wrapped themselves around Len's waist. A moan slipped through his teeth. IA moaned back as their fingers interlaced.

Len kept his jeans on, but still, he could feel her. Every movement, every subtle shift as she gripped his bare back and her toes curled. Lifting her into a sitting position, he crushed her against his chest.

Legs wound tighter, lungs breathed harder. The heart monitor beeped faster and faster.

IA's lips tasted like sugar and water. The faintest hint of alcohol danced on Len's taste buds.

Sterile, they tasted sterile.

Len could feel the tears pricking at his eyes, so he kissed harder. Never before had he been so aggressive. Teeth gnawed at her bottom lip and his tongue entwined with hers. Moving as one, they pulsed and trembled. A living, beating heart. Hot blood flowed beneath their translucent skin, within their entangled veins.

The thin spine warped as IA arched her back. Gasping, her voice was soft when Len kissed her neck. They were all over each other, inside and out.

After what felt like days, IA fell back onto the hospital bed, panting. She seemed to age as she hit the pillow, her eyes growing larger and a faint smile etching itself on her ashen skin. IA was falling, drowning, fading; please, help her to breath. All of her sadness was reflected in those blue eyes. So joyful, so sorrowful. Happiness, loveless. How pathetic are we, that we cry over this? She closed her eyelids and finally surrendered to the sheets. Just lying there, sweat caressing her body and staining her hair.

"A-are you all right?" Len sputtered. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No, never. I'm just tired…and I forgot…"

"Forgot what, Miss IA?" he asked, walking his fingers across her stomach. Every cell inside him was shaking. Static for too long, for far too long. Watered down, his spark was slowly reigniting. It grew inside him, almost painfully. But he welcomed the feeling.

"What did you forget, my love?" He pressed his lips against her abdomen and gasped. "Wait, is this, is this where it is?"

"Where what is?" IA snapped. "There's nothing there. Nothing. Just my sickness." A tear traced itself down her cheek.

Len placed his forehead on her stomach and sighed. "IA, I know. Yuuma told me."

"He did, huh? I guess I deserve it, after letting him down again…and again." The words caught in her throat and the sobs came again. "I-I'm disgusting, Len. I'm so sorry, so sorry. I'll get rid of it, I pr—"

"No." Cold ivory grazed the pale skin. His ear against her body, he could hear the swift heartbeat. The ocean inside her was moving. Trapped within the cradle, within the folds of IA, another heart was beating.

"No," Len said again. "You have to keep it. It's like a beautiful piece of music we made together. We crafted this, IA, we should be happy."

"But it makes me sick," she whimpered, fidgeting beneath him.

"Alcohol makes you sick. Pills and laxatives, negative thoughts and…my absence. Those are things that make you sick, IA." He buried his face in her abdomen, trying not to cry. "But I'm here now, and I'll be better. I won't hurt you anymore."

"And I won't hurt you, Len." She ran her fingers through his black hair, imagining a child that looked just like him. Soft blue eyes, a beautiful voice…something they made together.

"Now tell me what you forgot, my angel," Len said, closing his eyes.

"How wonderful it was, being with you."

Fingertips danced across his scalp. Ridges and valleys in her skin stimulated his cells.

"IA," he groaned, wrapping his arms around her hips. The sharp pelvic bones moved beneath his cheek. He held her tight, painting kisses on her stomach and feeling peaceful for the first time in weeks.

Her voice came light and sweet. Sugary dust into his open hands. "Len, I…I love you. I love our baby, too."

"I love you, too. You're my angel, IA, you've always—"

"Yes, she's always been your angel, you're one true love. You would take a bullet for her, blah, blah, blah. Are you done yet?"

There was no mistaking it, that was Yuuma's voice. A hand yanked the curtain back, and there he was, pink hair and all. His tie was undone, his sweater untucked. Hours in the hospital had taken its toll.

"Holy crap, what are you doing?!" Len shrieked, trying to cover his bare chest.

"Oh, grow up, kid," Yuuma said, attempting to straighten his tie. "Don't be so embarrassed. What about the whole 'your body is an instrument' dancer bullcrap? No need to be ashamed of your scrawny chest."

Len pulled at his hair, his face turning red. "First you give me a black eye and then you barge in here while—"

"You earned that black eye, scumbag. And please, I'm an agent; I've walked in on people doing it in an elevator. Now get dressed, Len. And IA, please lower your hospital gown."

"You're unbelievable!" Len exclaimed, angrily throwing his shirt over his head. "And don't look at IA, you perv!"

"Relax, Casanova." Yuuma leaned against the white wall, staring at the heart monitor with a bored expression on his face. "I'm just the agent, here to do my job. Now get out of the bed, Len. The nurse has been waiting outside for nearly half an hour.

IA stared at him, eyes unblinking. "Yuuma…I'm so—"

His lips curled into a smile. "Shhh, just rest. You've been through a lot. Let me handle everything from here."

The smile was kind, the golden eyes sincere.

"Fine," she mumbled. "But let Len stay. I need him."

Yuuma nodded, keeping his gaze on the heart monitor. "As you wish."

After he was fully dressed, Len sat in a chair at IA's bedside. Her hand felt cold in his.

A nurse walked in soon after. She smiled her fake smile and talked to IA in a childish voice. "Now, listen, sweetheart, you'll be able to leave soon if you follow instructions. The alcohol was pumped from your stomach, but you had severe alcohol poisoning, so we want to be safe. All you have to do is take this cathartic, and get the rest of those nasty toxins out of your system."

Yuuma raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that method a little archaic?"

"It's standard procedure for alcohol poisoning," the nurse snapped. "There's charcoal mixed in with this medication. That will absorb the rest of the toxins and ensure her recovery."

"Whatever you say, Doct—Oh wait, nevermind." Yuuma cocked his head and grinned mockingly. All of this stress was bringing out the worst in him. Biting words nipped at his tongue. They were race horses jumping at the gate.

The nurse glared at him and set the medication on the tray.

An awkward silence followed.

Then IA sat up, strands of hair falling across her face. "What will it do to me…this medication?"

The fake smile returned. "Nothing bad, sweetheart. It will just upset your stomach and get rid of all the bad stuff."

"You don't have to talk to her like that," Yuuma suddenly said. "She's not a naïve child, stop patronizing her." His golden eyes narrowed.

The nurse ignored him and looked at IA. "Just make sure you take it."

Without another word, she left, slamming the door behind her.

Len laughed without emotion. "Looks like you're a douche to everyone. You gonna punch the nurse, too?"

"Oh, you're hilarious, kid." His velvet smile became sharp as glass. Picking up the little cup of medication, he offered it to IA. "Well, you heard what the nurse said. Suck it down."

A hollow laugh followed. The pills shook inside their cup. Yumma's shoulders suddenly fell and his eyes softened.

The horses settled at the gate.

Long white fingers, once used for writing and playing piano, gripped IA's cold hand. "But if you feel too sick or you don't want to, you don't have too. Remember, IA, you are the hero in the heart of everyone. You've been through so much and overcome things I could never imagine. Make your own decisions. We trust you, Len and I. We will always trust you and be with you until the very end."

"So dramatic," Len mumbled. "But it's true. The agent and I are here for good."

"And if this one tries to leave again," Yuuma started, pointing his index finger at Len, "I'll give him another black eye."

"Whatever." Len rolled his eyes and snatched the cup out of Yuuma's hand. "Now here, Miss IA. I'll help you take it."

She nodded. The whole time, she was stiff and silent. Exhaustion pulled on her eyelids and fogged her brain. It was so calming, hearing them speak. The passion of Len, the sweetness of Yuuma. Together, their words twisted into beautiful music. Polyphonic notes paraded through her mind.

"Just…be nice to each other. I'll take it if you're nice."

"Deal," Yuuma said, his hands in his pockets. "Len?"

"Fine. Ok, I promise. Now please, take the medicine."

She closed her eyes as he came forward and tipped the cup into her mouth. Coarse and powdery, it made her cough.

"You'll be all right." Len pressed his face into her hair. "I promise."

His back turned, pink hair brushing his collar, Yuuma muttered, "Sure does make a lot of promises."

IA smiled faintly and Len rolled his eyes.

Back still turned, he looked down at the tile. "But I think he can keep them. He's a good kid."

* * *

The nurse was right. Coarse and powdery, the medication upset her stomach. Upset it terribly. She whimpered and curled into a ball as the pink muscle cramped inside her.

Len and Yuuma took turns carrying her to the bathroom door.

"This is so embarrassing." IA habitually flattened her hair and stared into space. "So…gross."

"You're human, IA," Yuuma said gruffly. "Don't be embarrassed. Don't ever feel embarrassed around me."

She said it again when Len carried her to the bathroom door.

"Stop it. At your best or at your worst, you're always beautiful to me. Besides, I like holding you." His breath quickened as he felt her bare thighs against his arm.

Time was irrelevant in that hospital room. For IA, each second crept painfully by as her stomach clenched and churned. For Len, space and time were suspended. It all existed in a dreamlike state in which he carried his glowing angel, her existence finally real. For Yuuma, time was real. Every minute passed within the realm of normalcy. He could hear the scraping of the clocks as hands scratched its surface. As the minutes passed, reality was stalking him. The reporters were still outside the hospital, the articles were still online. But he could deal with that later. Right now, his client needed him.

Hours later, the urge to rush to the bathroom faded. IA's stomach rumbled uncomfortably one last time, and it finally ended.

At last.

She felt whole and clean. Almost too clean.

"Len," she said, heaving a sigh while he massaged her abdomen. "After I leave this place, you and I are going to have so much fun."

Yuuma shook his head furiously. "Don't get carried away. None of that while you're pregnant."

Len growled and pulled at his hair. "What are you, her father?!"

"It's ok; there are other ways to have fun." Her eyes were wide and blank, but a blush was spreading across her face. "Just don't let me forget. Ever again."

"I won't." He kissed her belly button and smiled.

A few more hours passed.

The nurse came in, inquired how the medication had worked. Yuuma replied with a short, "Well. Now let her go," and then the nurse checked her vitals, returned her clothes, and she was allowed to leave.

Yuuma stared at his watch while IA got dressed. "It isn't too late. Eight thirty-three Post Meridian."

"Can't you just say PM like normal people?" Len asked, helping IA into her boots. "You're so…holy crap."

"I'm so holy crap? Is that supposed to mean something?"

"No, idiot. I just remembered…Rin, my sister; she's outside waiting for me!"

Yuuma burst out laughing. "Oh this is priceless! But I don't think she's out there now."

Len mumbled to himself as he pulled out his phone. There they were, a dozen missed calls and worried texts from Rin.

"What is it?" IA said, stroking his shoulder.

"Nothing, nothing. Just get ready to go." He slammed the phone against his forehead. "I am such an idiot!"

"Deal with it later, Len." Yuuma placed his hand on the doorknob. "We have to get out of here before the paparazzi attack us. Call your sister later."

"But she's—"

IA grabbed his hand, her eyes still glassy. "Come on."

Yuuma opened the door and they stepped out, only to find a young girl standing before them. Red hair, fingers stained with cherry ice, a shocked smile on her face.

"It…it's you…IA."


End file.
